


You Got The Power (To Make Me Feel Good)

by Edwardina



Series: The Cherish 'Verse [6]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, D/s AU, Deliberate Badfic, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, In Public, Jock Straps, Light BDSM, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Spanking, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edwardina/pseuds/Edwardina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of <i>Cherish Is the Word I'd Use</i>.  Extremely excited about wearing a jock strap for his Dom and still feeling spacey from being denied release, Sam has a long and blurry school day and is taken back to the made over discretionary.  Kurt gets more and more daring with his domming, and the two are reprimanded by Mr. Schuester.  Sam takes it upon himself to try and return to Kurt something he's been missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Got The Power (To Make Me Feel Good)

**Author's Note:**

> This returns to Sam's perspective and straddles events in 218. Title from "Cherish" by Madonna.
> 
> Thanks to Kate, for always holding my hand. [Glee Cast - Without You.mp3]

"Morning, cutie," said Kurt.

He bounced in place and smiled with infinite patience as Sam struggled to precisely dial the numbers on his lock.

It took him so many tries he lost count, but when Sam finally managed to click Kurt's locker open, he was rewarded with a soft, flirty little, "Why, thank you."

The way Kurt's voice curled and his slender, swaying shoulders rocked made Sam shuddery inside – made him ache with longing. Some of that was pent up need, but some of it was just that Kurt's voice was so coy yet confident. It always got to Sam like that. He felt kinda like he was a mouse that had been befriended by an affectionate cat who could eat him alive at any moment but graciously never did, and just wanted to, like, play with him. It was comforting, even though he was also so excited his balls were almost tingling in the light embrace of his strap.

He took a deep breath, trying to just be cool, and asked, "Can I take your jacket?"

"This old thing?" Kurt asked, eyelashes doing a dip as he lifted one shoulder in his red plaid jacket. "You want me out of it ahead of schedule? I don't know... maybe I'll let you take it off me later."

Sam groaned lowly without meaning to at all. His heavy head tipped and butted awkwardly into the locker next to Kurt's as he clutched his notebook across his lap with both hands, casually shielding his semi from kids passing by.

"So are you liking that hoodie?" Kurt asked him knowingly, eyeing him up.

"Yeah," he murmured, a dopey grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was happily wearing one of the hoodies Kurt had helped him pick out over a new plain white tee. It was green, but on the paler side.

"Soft, huh?"

"Yeah..."

It really was, on both the inside and the outside. Sam didn't think it should have felt so good, even if it was as soft as Pinky Wigglenose. But he was kind of... easily excitable. He'd just managed to forget because he'd been so satiated and spoiled lately, what with how much his Dom had let him service him and all the jerking off he'd been allowed to do. Well, between the cuffs on his wrists, the soft hoodie on his forearms, the jock strap, and his Dom revoking his j/o privilege, now Sam was reminded. It didn't take much to excite him.

"Well, it looks cute on you," Kurt murmured, flashing Sam another smug little smile. "I'm glad we got it. That's one of the t-shirts I picked out for you, too, isn't it?"

"You can tell?"

"Just an educated guess. And tell me, did you sleep tight, sweetie?"

"Yeah. I know it's 'cause you tucked me in." The fact that Kurt had let Sam service him was a factor, too. Pleading for it, and Kurt allowing it and even taking control of it, then being taken home and tucked in right in front of his family was a combination punch that had knocked him right out. He had literally never felt like that, not even when Kurt had put his cuffs on him in front of everyone in the hallway or tied him up. He didn't know why, or if he could even express it, even though he'd been trying to tell Kurt his state of mind more lately so he could be a good, trainable sub. He lamely said, "Thanks for doing that."

"My pleasure. I've always wanted to tuck you in for real. I think I utterly bewildered your parents, but Stacey said 'hi' and 'bye' to me and I got to see where you sleep every night, so in my book, it was an all-around win," said his Dom, cheery. "I hope I can do it again sometime. Now shall we get your books?"

With a nod, Sam reached for Kurt's bag.

"Oh, I'll keep this for now," said Kurt with some amusement.

"Oh. 'Kay."

Kurt did a quick hair check in his locker mirror, found it all still in perfect place, then tossed the door shut and took Sam's arm. Sam sort of floated along beside him. He didn't want to pop the dream feeling of it, or wake up if it really was a dream. It felt like he'd finally found his place at this school, and it was with Kurt, being lead through the halls of McKinley with his collared wrists on full display, and he was so lucky and so happy, he couldn't really fathom that there had been a time he hadn't been the luckiest sub at that school. He'd never really understood what it really meant to be a submissive until Kurt had collared him, and he probably still didn't actually know jack about how to be a sub for a guy, but he knew his feet didn't seem to be touching the floor.

"Why don't you let me take care of your lock today," Kurt suggested as they strolled up to Sam's locker.

"Okay," Sam repeated bashfully.

"Geometry?" Kurt questioned, dialing Sam's lock with ease.

"Yeah. I, uh. Finished it in class yesterday."

"Oh, nice job. You're absolutely slaying with your geometry lately. Showing those proofs who's boss!" Kurt handed Sam his book, which had the homework stuck inside it, with messy spiral edges all bent up. "Biology?"

Warm from the compliment, Sam racked his somewhat jumbled brains for a second. "We're doing study guides for tomorrow's test."

"Excellent. I already know you didn't do your reading..."

"No," Sam admitted readily.

"I saw your mom reading your book when I came in. If we don't stay on top of that thing, you're going to fall three chapters behind again."

"I know... I'll try and catch up."

"Well, it's my fault for keeping you from it last night, so I'll help you get through it, I promise," said Kurt, holding out his hand to take Sam's backpack for him. He tucked it away, but not before finding Sam's borrowed copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_ inside and handing it to him. "If you have any time before English, try to read some, okay? Just if you get your classwork finished up and have the time. If you don't, don't worry about it."

"Okay," Sam agreed, tucking the novel between his notebook and sweaty palm.

"Good." Kurt shut Sam's locker again. "Just one more thing."

"What?"

"Jock check," Kurt reminded him, brow perked.

Sam caught an awkwardly quick, thrilled breath there in the hallway.

He'd secretly been waiting... he wasn't sure if Kurt had been serious, or what kind of check he'd do if he was.

At first Sam had assumed he would do an old-fashioned check like the kind his coaches did back at Brookside, where you had to show just enough of a strap that they could tell you were wearing one. But with some distracted thought, he'd realized that Kurt wasn't exactly a coach, and that was a really old-school enforcement method anyway. It wasn't one Coach Beiste employed. So he'd wondered if maybe Kurt would just ask him if he was wearing one and take his word for it.

There was a chance, too, that Sam had excitedly misunderstood the instruction. It had been given to him in front of his parents as Kurt had been tucking him in, so it hadn't been explicit, and maybe Sam had just heard what he wanted to hear because he was so subbed out. He'd worried that maybe he was supposed to wear something else entirely, or that Kurt maybe wasn't really going to check, or if he might forget...

Sam exhaled again and asked intently, "Do you want me to show you, or...?"

"Well, it's all kinds of tempting to have you flashing me your undies in front of the astronomy classroom, but I think we'd better take a little detour to the boys' room for our first official jock check, hm?" his Dom asked with a smirk, giving one of the drawstrings on Sam's light green hoodie a playful little tug that pulled at his hood.

"Okay," Sam breathed, mesmerized.

His dick, which had been fluctuating between soft and sort of boned since he'd stepped into his jock in the bathroom that morning, went full-on stiff. Like, shamefully, totally, testing the limits stiff. His mind do-si-doed dizzily. Kurt was going to give him a check. Kurt was going to inspect him because Sam was his sub... and Kurt would find he'd been good... 

Kurt captured the other drawstring and gave them both a pull, stepping back. Sam got the cue, following along, lead by his hood's drawstrings like a makeshift leash to the nearest boys' bathroom as he held his notebook tightly in front of him.

It was one of the most crowded bathrooms, since it was in a main hall, but this close to the first bell of the day, no one was using it, either to do their business or draw scatological cartoons on the walls with stolen dry erase markers.

Even though it was empty, Sam still felt some kind of default intensity being taken there, like the kind he got in the locker room; maybe it was because he was a sub, and so much natural Darwinian domination went on in all-male spaces. Even if there wasn't any kind of gay vibe to it and no one pulled the kind of stunt the Brookside lacrosse captain had, it happened. Vibes were thrown anyway. A pecking order was automatically determined. Doms and subs were silently sussed, even if the sussing turned out to be inaccurate. The privacy and lack of chicks meant that the rules were just a little different than they were in most other places.

Years of experience with communal spaces left Sam feeling physically attuned to them. He knew them down to their echo and scent after so much time spent at Brookside, sharing almost everything with forty other guys. Under the inevitable layer of Axe body spray there was always the humid, base musk of dude, of damp arm pits and sweat socks. He was accustomed enough to the hair-raising sensation to successfully mute it most of the time. But when he was with his Dom, there was no mute button.

Sam shouldered the door open and held it as Kurt brushed past him, then insistently opened the second door for him, too.

"Handicapped stall," Kurt directed, with a tilt of his head. He watched Sam scurry past the urinals to the largest stall at the end of the modest beige row and open the door for Kurt once more. "Merci."

"De nada," Sam breathed as Kurt stepped by him.

"Let's see," Kurt drawled, leisurely, as Sam joined him in the roomy stall and pushed the door shut behind them. He was surveying the space with sharp eyes, judging things that were only evident to him but that put him on top of absolutely everything, always. They were in the very corner of the room. There was a long, smooth, cylindrical metal bar screwed to the tiled wall for handicapped people to use for support and a toilet paper dispenser by the toilet, but not much else as far as Sam could see. "Lock that door, sweetie."

Sam locked it obediently, having a much easier time with the simple sliding bar lock than he had with Kurt's combination lock.

"Looks clean enough," said Kurt with a squint, "but I just don't trust Mr. Kidney, do you?"

"I dunno," Sam said. He wasn't sure if it was a serious question, but he had no idea, anyway.

"Ah, well. Hand me your books."

Conscious of his serious erection, Sam did so, the merest squeak of his fingers loud on his plastic notebook. Even though the stall they were in was on the larger side and easily accommodated them both, the tiled wall bounced every sound back mercilessly. Kurt tucked Sam's trapper up against his chest and graced him with a sultry smile.

"Now you'd better let me check you for that jock, hm? Unzip."

Sam's blood was rushing so hard he felt dizzy, but he obediently worked his button and fly open in quick succession.

"Good," said Kurt calmly. "Now show it to me."

"Just a strap?" Sam asked hoarsely, thumbing at the side of his waistband.

"Hm – I think you should show me the whole thing," Kurt said, gaze razing him up and down in such a quick, expectant manner that Sam didn't think twice, even though he was kinda embarrassed that he was as excited as he was.

He shucked his jeans right down to the tops of his thighs with his thumbs, then clutched at the front of his t-shirt and hoodie to pull them up to his ribs, getting them off his belly and out of the way for Kurt so he could see... everything.

His ass was bare as fuck.

Sam was used to the idea and even the sensation, but his body felt as hyper-sensitive to the air as it was to the soft lining of his hoodie. It'd been a while since he'd worn a jock strap casually, and when he had, it had been under his school uniform's khakis, which were thinner and a looser fit than his jeans. This strap was skimpier, sans cup pocket, than even the strap he'd worn on the track team. It felt different than the actual athletic supporters he'd worn most of the time freshman year. It felt like he was wearing nothing at all.

Normally that would have just meant comfort, but under Kurt's direction, he felt daring, wearing this to school. The guys who actually wore jock straps on the field at this school tended towards wearing them over boxers (which Sam thought was pointless, but the McKinley football team was so homophobic) so he knew wearing one casually was unusual here. Even sliding it on that morning, he'd felt like he was doing something abnormal instead of just tugging on underwear. His dick had responded to the whole feel of the strap and everything by getting hard, so he'd tucked upwards, and now it was stuck in the tiny space under the waistband, filling his soft white pouch with the weighty bulge of his erection. It stuck out in front of him in a round curve.

"Ah," Kurt said, and perked his brow.

Sam had no idea what kind of response that was, but he knew it was about him. He felt his dick twitch heavily and opened his mouth, jaw working awkwardly. He had to say something to explain his huge wood, but it was like groping for something in pitch dark. He couldn't find any words, and the harder he flailed the more he just knocked things astray. So instead of speaking, he twisted to the side, letting his Dom see the one of the straps that stretched down his hips and around his ass cheeks.

"Dear God," Kurt uttered softly.

Sam shut his mouth and tucked his chin down, his eyes squeezing shut.

"Hands on the rail," said Kurt, brisk.

Obeying innately and instantly, Sam was clutching that thick, smooth, cool metal bar with both hands, looking down at his grip on it before he realized Kurt was checking his backside out further, head tilted. His balls clenched in abject excitement. Dizzy, he closed his eyes again and let out a harsh exhale, not sure what to do besides keep his hands right where they were supposed to be until Kurt told him to do something else.

But Kurt took his time. He looked Sam over silently, and Sam flushed with heat and flexed. It wasn't on purpose, just a nervous response, but it made Kurt exhale, measured.

This time he could tell the response was a pleased one – that the way Kurt breathed was the way he breathed when Sam was servicing his dick and he was aroused, but trying to keep himself steady. It was so humbling. He wasn't worthy. But he wanted to be worthy. He wanted Kurt to like what he saw. He hoped he looked okay. He didn't have football practice every day anymore so he didn't run nearly as much, but he did twice as much walking as he used to. He sucked in his belly a bit, his legs and ass pulling taut and his face burning. Kurt wasn't saying anything.

After another long moment, a warm touch traced the back of one clean white strap, following it up his hip then back down again. Then Kurt's fingertips slipped off the elastic and brushed over the bare skin of Sam's ass cheek. A shiver of tight, sharp arousal pulsed through Sam. He could hear himself taking in a shuddery gasp.

"Hm," Kurt let out in a little chuckle, like all this was moderately entertaining, and took his touch away.

Sam was left to stand there breathing hard for several seconds. Then something traced the skin right next to that strap.

Sam's head lifted automatically, alert. It was something different. Some object, not Kurt's soft, deliberate fingers. Something ungiving, with an edge that raked, scratchy, and gave him a light but firm tap right over the strap.

The mild hit upon his skin rang unbelievably loudly in the stall, leaving the silence that ensued heavy and Sam sort of shocked. He couldn't really feel that tap at all, especially after the noise dissolved and disappeared in the space around him, but the resound of feeling and sound in his mind was – massive. His whole body, every last molecule, wondered wildly what was happening and what was touching him and began to buzz hotly.

Sam, who was white-knuckling at the safety rail, knew what it was. It had to be _The Catcher in the Rye_. Kurt was holding his books and nothing else. The thing was small and light. Just by process of elimination, it had to be his book.

He tried not to choke as the corner of the book nudged at his strap and slid under it momentarily, as if it was just taking a peek beneath it – like his whole naked butt wasn't on display. He heard his own tiny, mortifying squeak of surprise and bowed his head again, as low as he could get it, in instinctive deference and bone-deep embarrassment. His shoulder muscles strained at the stretch.

Another mellow thwap came, no harder than the first, but squarer, aimed well and clapping him gently on his totally bared right ass cheek.

Again, Sam barely felt a thing. The paperback was insubstantial in weight and size – but the cover was just firm and flat enough that the sound of it against Sam's skin was beyond loud, captured and bounced back by four close walls. The noise left Sam utterly stunned. It sounded like Kurt had given his ass a hard crack with a paddle or something! Not a benign smack with no actual strength behind it.

Kurt paused, then gave him another swat. It came down daintily on his left cheek this time. Sam choked, trying not to groan. This time the book stayed against his skin, flat and light and almost nothing. Sam didn't even understand what was happening, or why; he just knew that Kurt was touching his bare ass with the Great American Novel he was supposed to be reading for English, and he was going to have to give it back to Brittany having been teased with it by his Dom like this. He thought for a harsh second that he might spontaneously unload in his jock.

"Boy, you are just begging," Kurt commented under his breath.

The top of Sam's bowed head touched the wall. What made Kurt say that, he didn't know, but he definitely felt like begging.

"'M sorry!" he blurted, not knowing what else to say.

Kurt waited a tiny eternity (which turned out just to be a few seconds) before deigning to tap each of his butt cheeks once more with the book, barely making contact but still somehow creating sharp echoes that sounded like little claps of thunder. Sam's body flexed till he felt like he might splinter. His shoulders, which had hiked up tensely, quivered with how hard he was holding the rail.

"Please, Kurt," he whispered at the wall.

"Please what?" asked Kurt, stroking the smooth surface of the book up around the elastic strap and the curve of his gluteal muscle. Sam was extremely sure that if Kurt gave him many more of those taps he was going to either come or pass out or both.

"'M gonna die," Sam wheezed idiotically.

"You're gonna die?" repeated Kurt, clicking his tongue softly. "Poor thing. I certainly don't want that. Shall I stop?"

"Thank you – thank you, Kurt," Sam managed, ashamed of himself for his outrageously short fuse. He was completely turned on even saying those words to Kurt, though, which just made him feel even closer to creaming himself. He broke into a babble, trying to stopper the orgasmic flow of his own thoughts. "'M sorry! I'm gonna come if you don't. Please. I don't wanna come. Not till you tell me to. Please."

He wasn't helping himself at all –

Kurt chuckled at him, then got his firm voice back out and said, "I hear you, Sam. Don't worry. I'm done playing with you for right now. Pants up."

Gulping gratefully, Sam hiked his jeans up, covering up his bare ass and managing to stuff his cock-stretched pouch back in them too. He was so hard, it was humiliating. As he zipped up again, red-faced and near tears imagining going to class with such a raging, visible hard-on (and how nonsensically he wished Kurt would've pitilessly kept going anyway, until he was standing there in a soddened jock that couldn't keep his own hot jizz from dripping down one leg), the bell rang.

"Oops. Guess we're both going to be late," Kurt commented.

Tugging his shirt and hoodie straight again, Sam inhaled a shaking breath, which echoed back at him almost as badly as the tiny spanks Kurt had been giving him. He hadn't been paying attention to anything other than the most epic jock check in the universe, and to realize all over again that people had been making their way to class just on the other side of the bathroom doors while he'd been getting his bare ass prodded and patted by _The Catcher in the Rye_ was bizarre and intense. He didn't know what to do with it, or anything he was thinking or feeling. He wasn't exactly upset, because he wouldn't have traded the feeling for the world, but it was overwhelming the same way being upset was, and tears were threatening to prick. He really wanted to drop to his knees, and he wanted to hide his face in Kurt's cocked hip and beg to suck his dick.

Kurt added, "I think it might be best if you waited a few minutes before you go to class."

"Thanks," Sam wheezed, shame-faced.

His Dom patted his bicep reassuringly. "You okay, honey?"

Swallowing past a lump of intensity, knowing he couldn't put how he was feeling into words, Sam managed, "Yeah. I just wanna be your sub so much, Kurt."

"You are my sub, sweetie. You're really feeling like it today, aren't you?"

"More than ever," Sam got out, pained, and so grateful Kurt could see that.

"My good boy, hmm?" Kurt's soft hand rubbed at Sam's forearm, coming to rest at his cuff and giving its buckle a sensuous rub with his thumb. "Can you be in class today?"

"Yes," Sam panted. He didn't know whether Kurt touching his collar like that was comforting or arousing. "Just need to calm down."

"You're being honest with me, right?"

"Yeah. Promise. Just need that few minutes pretty bad."

"Mm-hmm," Kurt hummed, seeming sympathetic. "You can take however long you need. Just remember to go to the office for a pass if you take longer than ten minutes, or you'll get an unexcused absence. We don't want you to land in detention. You can tell the secretary you were detained by your Dom and she'll write you up a pass."

Sam nodded, but he could scarcely imagine forming such words in front of the lady in the office right then. Anyone who looked at him below the waist would be able tell he had no control over himself.

"Hey, Sam? Take a nice, deep breath, okay?"

Eyelids too heavy for him to even see straight, Sam obeyed. Kurt was so close that more than anything else, Sam could smell his hairspray.

"Now let it out."

Sam exhaled in a rush.

"Good! But let's do it again, nice and slow," Kurt suggested, hand sliding down to squeeze Sam's. This time he breathed along with Sam, who felt himself getting pulled from some tense place to the center of the universe, which was where Kurt was. Sam tried to take in air and let it out again at Kurt's pace. He felt steadier and like he could see all of a sudden; he guessed his eyes maybe opened up all the way or focused up or something. He was slowly becoming aware of the sudden quiet out in the hall compared to the bustle there had been before he'd pushed his jeans down. Nodding, his gaze on Sam fixed and intent, Kurt said, "Perfect. One more time."

Together, they inhaled to capacity and exhaled gradually. Sam felt the simple, calming exercise begin to loosen whatever was wound up so tight in him, and he squeezed Kurt's hand, grateful.

"I'm glad you're feeling like my sub," Kurt told him with a smile, giving him a return squeeze. "And you're listening close, right?"

"'Course."

"I want you to be proud of yourself for submitting to that jock check and telling me when it got to be too much for you, because I am bursting with pride over your obedience and how well you handled it and your honesty with me. Go to class whenever you're ready. If you have too much trouble concentrating, do you know what to do?"

"Nurse," Sam said automatically.

"A-plus! What will you tell the nurse?"

"That I need you," Sam responded, without having to think about it at all, "'cause you'll come help me?"

"You're impressing me so much! That's exactly what you should do, and I'll definitely help you if you need me."

Sam was getting favored with a satisfied smile. He breathed a sigh of relief, complex things sinking and rising inside him.

"I'd love to linger here with you, but I better get to class," Kurt said, smiling lips pursing in a pretend pout. He offered Sam his books. "Here you go, sweetie. Don't forget to wash your hands before you leave."

"'Kay," Sam managed. He clutched his novel and tried not to let it get him excited all over again. He definitely needed to take a few more deep breaths on his own.

His Dom leaned in and gave him a friendly one-armed hug, patting him on the back.

Then he whispered, "I like your sexy little jock strap," and slipped out the stall door, leaving Sam scrabbling for the bar to maintain his hard-won mental center and not, like, just fall over or something.

 

*

 

Sam did manage to pull himself together, mumble the words "I was getting inspected" in front of Figgins' secretary, obtain a pass that explicitly said so from her, and get himself to geometry.

He'd missed the homework check already and gave both his pass and his work to the teacher. The glance given to his pass was so brief yet accepting that Sam felt intrinsically that the teacher had to be a sub – he had to understand what it was like, not being in control. After Sam's absence was erased, the teacher strolled to his table and returned his pass to him to him like it was a badge of honor. The Domme Cheerio he shared a table with peeped it curiously.

Sam shoved the slip of paper into his copy of _Catcher_ (which then got summarily shoved into an inner pocket of his notebook), unable to tell if he was embarrassed or pleased and willing himself not to think about it at all because he was definitely gonna stiffen in his strap again if he thought about anything other than line segments.

Kurt had told him he should be proud, and he certainly felt something akin to pride as he made it all the way to third period English without any, um, incidents or anything.

But of course, he had to pull out his novel for the class, and that got him really red really fast.

The mortification melted down into an aroused throbbing low in his guts as the class went on. Discussion and note-taking ended without Sam being called on, which was a major relief, since he was behind and couldn't think too clearly anyway. For the rest of the period, he sat with one arm in his lap to shield his boner, novel cracked on the table in front of him.

Sam sort of tried to read, and did in small fits and spurts, but his brain didn't retain any of it. His thoughts kept distractedly circling back to the fact that he was holding a tool his Dom had used on him.

That's kind of what it was, wasn't it? Like, Kurt hadn't really _spanked_ him with it. He'd just laid a couple of light thumps down, lighter than any ass-pat Sam had ever gotten from a fellow athlete. But still. Whiny protagonist aside, suddenly Sam respected this book. He only actually turned the page once, but all these words were alive and important in a way they hadn't been before and the typeface seemed to stand out as he studied it. And the cover was so smooth. How come he hadn't noticed how smooth it was before? It was just plain, off-white, with no picture on the front or blurb on the back and no shine. There was a rainbow of diagonal lines stretched across the upper left corner, like a logo or something. It wasn't a big book. He could handle it with one hand. It must have only weighed a few ounces. It had made such a loud noise against his skin, though. Kurt had held it and used it on him on purpose.

Was it discipline? Was that what Kurt was doing to him? Despite what Kurt had told him on Easter, he felt like he had terrible discipline. Maybe Kurt wanted to punish him for falling behind on his reading. Or was it just a part of the inspection? Was it some kind of training? He was abiding by his Dom's wishes as best he knew how, but he knew he could use more guidance.

Briefly, Sam had been granted permission to get off whenever he wanted. He'd gotten a week's worth of hot showers in, just enough to fool his body into thinking he really could come whenever he needed – whenever he wanted. He'd taken every opportunity and spoiled himself. Now Kurt had taken that away from him again, shaping what his routine looked like, where his thoughts went, and taking control of his come with a single decision. It made him physically ache, but only in a good way. Even if Kurt had only been playing with him in the bathroom, it had still been so Dommy. Sam had gotten the message loud and clear. Kurt owned him.

After English, it was time for lunch. Sam could've groaned. He was ready for a break, but could only think that even though it was a break from having to try and pay attention in class, he was going to be all wound up being around Kurt – especially after spending most of his English class winding himself up. What if Kurt fed him something by hand? What if he creamed himself? Seriously. It seemed like enough of a possibility that he wondered if he'd be forced to ask Kurt for mercy in front of Mike and Tina.

"What do you think I brought for you today?" Kurt asked him playfully as they claimed their usual table.

"I can never guess," Sam said, trying not to be too flustered. He'd just brought an apple and some rice cakes. Kurt liked for him to smear peanut butter onto those, but he hadn't had the presence of mind that morning.

Biting down on a pleased smile, Kurt pulled two stackable plastic containers from his messenger bag and slid them over to Sam, prim. The top one was filled with something green. Sam opened it first.

"It's guacamole," said Kurt. "And to go with it, some whole-wheat baked tortilla chips. Sprinkled with lime, so they have a little bit of nice bitey flavor."

"You made all this," Sam said. It wasn't even a question.

"I just might've! It's easy-peasy. I sent some with my dad to the garage, too."

"Thanks," whispered Sam.

His Dom looked quite happy and dug in to his own lunch. "Mm-hmm!"

After yesterday, Sam had a clearer sense that Kurt fed him as much for his own pleasure as he did for Sam's benefit, but he still felt pink from the consideration and from everything Kurt had done for him – and to him – today alone.

"Thank you, Kurt," he mumbled again.

Kurt reached beneath the table and pinched lightly at the muscle just above Sam's knee. It was a playful and affectionate gesture he never hesitated to bestow, and usually centered Sam.

"You are very welcome, sweetie."

When Mike and Tina joined them, they were in the middle of some vaguely argumentative-sounding exchange, but Kurt interrupted them.

"So? Did you find a good prom dress candidate?"

"I found a 'maybe,'" said Tina darkly, slapping her tray down.

"I liked it," Mike muttered.

"Because it shows off my cleavage! You don't care about anything else!"

"Well, it's great cleavage! What can I do about that?"

"I'm not choosing a prom dress based on _cleavage_ ," Tina said, like it was literally the stupidest thing she had ever heard.

Mike just sighed, meeting Sam's eye for a moment. So it was a fight day, Sam surmised. Every now and then Tina and Mike seemed to have them, like the other side of the coin to how PDA-prone and sappy they usually were. Sam couldn't help but hear Kurt's voice in his head, lamenting, _Girls..._

"Tell me about the dress," Kurt was actually saying right then. "Maybe it's a diamond in the rough and just needs the right accessories!"

Mike and Sam both tucked into their lunches, communicating with silent looks. Mike shook his head slightly as if to indicate that he didn't know what the heck was wrong and didn't know what to do about it; Sam gave him an understanding half-smile, 'cause he remembered the times Quinn had gotten randomly short-tempered or mad at him. And that was all two guys needed to say. Mike chowed down on his pizza and veggies. Sam couldn't stay away from the chips and dip Kurt had brought him. He wasn't sure exactly whether guacamole was something within his diet, but in comparison to rice cakes, it was a billion times more flavorful and interesting, so he was totally on board to do another round of cheating. He hoped Kurt would still want him when his cuffs didn't fit anymore 'cause he was so fat.

"Don't be pessimistic," Kurt said, involved in his prom dress conversation with Tina. "There's no reason anyone would think you're doing a 'gothic bride' look."

"But I have to wear a fascinator. I just have to. I bought it months ago and I love it and I've been waiting and I really wanna wear it to prom! But with the lace on the dress, it just looks like a veil! But literally everything else has these annoying sequins and rhinestones, and while I am a sparkling individual inside and out and love sequins and rhinestones, I'm just burned out on them after beading all those dresses for Sectionals."

"I understand. A little beading goes a long way. But you won't be carrying a bouquet or walking down an aisle! No one will think wedding. Don't freak out on me, but have you considered making some adjustments to your fascinator?"

The discussion left Sam literally clueless. All he could tell was that Kurt was talking Tina into her dress – which sounded like every other dress Tina wore, if it was black and had lace.

Sam silently examined Mike. He wondered if Mike had asked Tina to prom, or if she'd asked him, or if it was just a given that they were going to go together, since they were dating. He decided to ask as soon as he could grab Mike alone.

He was seriously stymied as to how to approach prom. It kept coming up in everyone's else's conversations all the time, so he couldn't put it out of his mind if he wanted to. Sam didn't know whether or not he should ask Kurt, or whether he could even afford to. He just knew Kurt wasn't going to bring it up, now that he knew Sam's budget for stuff like that was non-existent. Kurt always encouraged him to take all the shifts he could at work and knew better than anyone that it left Sam with very little free time. They were lucky to be able to squeeze in seeing each other outside of school once a week and depended on nightly phone calls like they depended on air. But he hadn't asked Sam before finding out how poor he was, either. So what did that mean? Kurt hadn't said anything about it to Sam at all, but he talked about it with all the girls. Would Kurt even really want to go, or was he just enjoying being looked to as a consultant? If he asked, would Kurt turn him down?

And how would he act if he did go with Kurt to prom? Like a date, or like a sub? Would he dance with Kurt like couples did, or was that one of the things they just didn't really do, like swap spit in the middle of the mall? He was so bad at dancing... Quinn had winced and laughed at his two left feet at Kurt's parents' wedding. And they were both guys! Who would lead? Kurt would lead, he subserviently admitted to himself. As usual. Unless Kurt wanted him to lead. Or did no one lead when two guys danced? Who put their arms where? He remembered that Finn and Kurt had danced at the reception, and it had all been okay... but that wasn't at school, surrounded by haters, and Finn and Kurt were step-brothers, not a couple.

Not that Sam and Kurt acted like a couple...

Sam didn't really know if they were a couple. Like, dating. He knew he didn't really have any interest in anyone else. Nobody could hold a candle to Kurt. It just felt so much like Kurt was in the driver's seat, and because Kurt was a guy, too, things just seemed more complicated. At least with girls, it was a given that the guy would probably lead during a dance, no matter if he was a Dom or a sub. Sam guessed if a Domme wanted to, she would lead, but that was up to her.

In that way, Sam instinctively felt that if Kurt wanted to go, he would just tell Sam. He was the Dominant. He had to know how happy Sam would be to go, if he could afford it. He had no right to ask Kurt for anything more than forgiveness when he was behaving the wrong way, which he always gave. He'd just asked Kurt to come to church with his family, and that had felt like a major deal and Sam had been nervous to ask and never would have if it hadn't been his dad's idea. It was already asking a lot of Kurt to deal with him, he thought, and keep a sub that had messed up thinking and no home, no privacy, no money. It was a bigger pain than Kurt would ever admit to. Kurt deserved so much more than him. Sam couldn't even take him out to dinner.

He was so disconnected from the conversation going on at the table that he was surprised when Kurt touched his back.

Sam tried to focus, wondering if Kurt had asked him a question and he'd missed it – but Kurt just seemed to be touching him, casual, still involved in his lady-chat with Tina. He was just giving Sam's back a warm rub. As soon as Sam realized that he was only being pet, his eyelids drooped heavily, focus blurring and prom fading back into the distance, an unimportant fixture of the landscape he didn't need to think about.

He tucked his arms into his lap, and whether he leaned in or Kurt pulled him in, he didn't know, but he found his cheek pillowed on Kurt's shoulder and let go of everything on his mind. He knew Karofsky shared their lunch hour and was around somewhere, but he didn't care unless Kurt cared, and Kurt didn't seem to care. Mike and Tina wouldn't say anything.

Kurt tucked his chin into Sam's hair, called him "sweetie," and let him lean there bonelessly, just like he had in the car last night. Last night he'd been aching everywhere in his body to come but had pushed his own desire far, far away, leaving him in some kind of blissful drifting stasis. He was almost eager to go right back there, even in the cafeteria. Kurt smelled so good. Sam could smell the detergent he used in the fabric of his shirt and the extra-hold hairspray from his locker and his skin, which had a baby-soft, clean scent that was only half his soap. Sam had used some of that in the shower and it had smelled like Kurt, but Kurt smelled more complex than just the soap. Maybe that eye cream... 

The lunch bell rang and Sam lifted his head, reluctant but dutiful.

"Guacamole isn't your thing, huh?" Kurt asked him kindly, transferring his hand to Sam's knee and rubbing it.

"No, I liked it," Sam responded. He wasn't sure why he'd stopped eating, because it tasted good and he was aware he was hungry. "I just..."

He couldn't explain.

"I know. You're feeling extra subby today and needed a little cuddle," Kurt said indulgently, reaching for Sam's lunch and packing it up for him, including his untouched apple and rice cakes. "You can take the chips home if you want. Have 'em as a snack. Wanna let me pack you up?"

Sam groped for his backpack. His Dom popped open the top flap and put the remains of his lunch in it for him neatly, then snapped it back together again.

He forgot about trying to catch Mike, and sorta forgot about almost everything as he walked with Kurt to where they always said they'd see each other after their next class.

"Have a good time in geography," Kurt said, cupping Sam's cheeks and smiling as he thumbed them both gently where dimples sometimes appeared.

"I will," said Sam.

"Yeah? You will? Will you concentrate?"

"...Yes."

"And get all your work done?"

"I'll try. I'll do my best."

He watched Kurt's delicate lashes drop against his cheek.

"You're feeling good today, hm."

"Yes," Sam said, although it was a really complicated kind of good where every class was just an endurance round and being with Kurt was blissful torture and even his own clothes were giving him boner after boner. It was almost difficult. He could shove back the need to come and will away his hard-ons if he took a mental cold shower, but there was no mental mute button for how it felt to be Kurt's sub. He added softly, "Subby. Like you said."

"I can tell. But I hope you can pay attention in class. Maybe you can show me your geography work when we get to study hall. And maybe I'll reward you if you've paid attention," said Kurt with a curling smile. "Maybe I'll let you service me like a good little sub."

Sam's stomach flopped. His heart leapt. And he maybe lurched in place, although he was anchored by Kurt's hands on his face. It felt like the earth had dropped out from under him like a cartoon trap door and he was just miraculously hovering with the help of Kurt's touch.

"Service you...?" he let out, shocked.

"That would be the best reward for my diligent sub, wouldn't it? Sucking and servicing and worshiping my cock?"

Flushing, Sam nodded weakly. People were filtering by them, and Kurt was standing there, talking about dick service in the hottest way Sam had ever, ever, ever heard.

"Good. I'll be expecting you to show me whatever Mrs. Hagberg has you doing. See you after class, sub."

Kurt walked off with his jaunty, important sway, and after shoving his fists into his hoodie's pockets to try and cover his hard-on, wrist collars too bulky to fit entirely in the pockets, Sam made it to Hagberg's classroom somehow, mind buzzing and wobbly. After class? Would he be allowed to service Kurt then? During study hall? Where? The nurse's office? Or maybe the bathroom? He felt his limbs go limp and tingle almost harshly at the idea; being in the boys' room, locked in a stall with his Dom, was fresh in his mind. He could still smell it – could practically feel it. The scent of his Dom was still vivid in his senses, and Sam longed to smell that deeper, muskier scent of his cock, taste its sweet delicate pink skin and feel it on his tongue. But maybe Kurt meant some other time when he could take Sam to his house, or something.

It didn't matter. Sam would do it anytime. If he could earn all that, he would, and whenever Kurt allowed him to do it, he would.

Sam dragged out his dumb textbook and shifted his single-minded focus completely, eyes practically burning a hole in Mrs. Hagberg's bald spot as he waited for her to shuffle to her podium and call roll.

 

*

 

When Kurt entered study hall, Sam stood right up, his chair squeaking annoyingly against the linoleum and bumping into Stoner Brett's table behind him, and held out his exhaustive geography notes eagerly. He sort of thought Mrs. Hagberg may have just been getting recipes off the internet and reciting them for her lesson on African culture – either that or she was confused and thought they were her home ec class – but he'd diligently copied down how to make spicy couscous with dates anyway. Then he'd been given a map of Italy to color in according to regional exports.

"For me?" asked Kurt breezily, bag on his hip. "Hmm! Let's just see..."

"It's geography, I swear," said Sam, dead serious.

"Oh, no, yeah... I can see the classic Hagberg train of thought, careening right off the rails... and the confused recovery," said Kurt, turning the page to Italy, which Sam had colored in red, with orange and green patches. "Great job on the map. Has anyone ever complimented you on your coloring?"

"Not since preschool. Is it good?" Sam asked desperately.

"Mm-hm," hummed Kurt, returning his papers. "Know what we're going to do now, since you were such a good little student?"

"Please," breathed Sam, on edge.

"Grab your stuff and come with me, cutie."

"Yo, Evans, man, that map is crazy," said Stoner Brett, as Sam stuffed his geography papers away in an awkward rush that pretty much turned them to bent-up rubble. "Mussolini. Mario. The Red Years. You know? It's like, how vast is this conspiracy?"

"No clue," Sam said honestly.

"Hagberg, man. She is on some next-level shit."

After a beat of wondering whether Brett was actually on some next-level shit himself right then or not, Sam escaped and hurried to the desk, where Kurt was standing, waiting for him. Mr. Clippinger was looking at a set of pink hall passes.

"The both of you," he said.

"Yes," Kurt said, with simple authority.

Sam held his breath as Mr. Clippinger gave the passes a second look, then squinted up at them. It wasn't a very promising look, especially in comparison to the one Sam's pass had been given after he'd come in so late to geometry that morning.

"You don't look sick."

"Sam has medicine he has to take."

"And what about you?"

Kurt said in a way that was friendly yet factual, "I'm his Dom, so. He's not going without me."

Mr. Clippinger's gaze dropped to Sam's cuffs. Then he handed Kurt the passes, which were written out in Ms. Pillsbury's textbook cursive. "Okay. Go take your medicine."

"Thank you. Follow me, Sam," Kurt said unnecessarily, but he'd just dommed the exchange so effortlessly that Sam followed after him in awe like he was being pulled by his hoodie's drawstrings all over again, leashed.

"You boss around teachers," Sam said dazedly out in the hall. "How do you do that."

"Oh, I don't always get away with it," Kurt said modestly, like it was nothing unusual, and took Sam by his cuff to lead him. "Know where we're off to?"

Sam hazarded a hopeful guess. "Private suite?"

"How right you are!"

"Am I –" Sam tried to get close so he could whisper to Kurt, even though they were alone in the hall, bumping their shoulders together. He felt so clumsy. "Do I get to service you??"

"I wonder," Kurt returned coquettishly.

Sam's mind whirled. Kurt hadn't said no...

Both times they'd been to the nurse before, Sam had asked Kurt to be allowed to suck his dick, and Kurt had denied him both times – but he'd let Sam do it since. In a parking lot at the mall, even. If there was a magic way to ask, Sam hadn't figured it out. He wondered if maybe Kurt just felt better when he was in the driver's seat, literally and figuratively; both of the times he'd let Sam do that in his car, Kurt had seemed more comfortable than he had in his own room. He tried to resign himself to the possibility that Kurt had no intention of allowing him to do that at school, but he couldn't help the pining that came from deep down and the hope that welled as a result.

No matter what, though, Sam knew now that Kurt liked taking him to the nurse. Going there wasn't a bad thing, like he'd feared. It didn't mean he was disobedient or needed punishment or that Kurt had a problem sub on his hands. It meant that Kurt had made a decision to dom him. Taking him there was what Kurt wanted, no matter why. Sam had no say. The thought of being laid out on that vinyl bed for his Dom to look at, or maybe even touch or climb onto, was overwhelming enough without the long shot of maybe being allowed to please Kurt. They weren't even in there yet and Sam could feel himself sinking slowly, bending, floating yet going under at the same time. To him, the nurse's office now just meant he could submit.

Kurt opened the nurse's door for him, and Sam walked into the office, docile and breathing hard, eyes pinned to the floor.

"There you are," the nurse said dryly, hardly looking up from her ledger. It sounded like she'd been expecting them and they were late.

"Here we are," Kurt responded, in his slinky voice. If Sam hadn't already been stiffening in his strap, that would've done it. The nurse had no idea how lucky she was to be hearing Kurt's voice sound like that. She had to know Sam was in for it.

"I have a girl who's feeling under the weather in the infirmary. You can send her out to see me before you head in. Remember, if you compromise the security of the safe room, I will deny you and your sub future entrance," said the nurse.

"Yes, ma'am," said Kurt. "That was in the fine print."

"And if it ain't up to your snuff, you can take that up with Coach Sylvester. I am not an interior decorator."

Kurt flashed Sam a smile, but it dropped from his face when he pushed aside the pale blue curtain, and Sam could see why.

On one of the beds, ankles crossed, was Santana. She had her phone in front of her face, but looked over as they stepped back into the infirmary. When she saw Kurt, her expression soured, like Kurt was the very last person she wanted to see.

"Feeling bad for yourself, are you?" Kurt asked her.

"Crimson tide, okay," she muttered. "Lay off."

"Nurse asked to see you out there," Kurt returned unsympathetically.

"Ugh."

Santana hauled herself up, irritated, and grabbed for her purse, spotting Sam in the process.

"Oh, look, attached to lady Hummel's hip like a gigantic fanny pack that's just gaping open – it's precious little trouty mouth. You in here with an advanced case of Amanda Lepore-itis?"

Sam couldn't even say hi, or, like, that he didn't even know who that was. He didn't really sense that words from him were welcome. But also, he just kind of wanted her to leave already, so he didn't engage. He just stared at the floor. His ex-Domme slid from the bed, pulled down the miniskirt that had inched up her thighs, and didn't try to make eye contact.

"Maybe you should ask the nurse for an ice pack," she said, sliding her purse up her arm and stepping past Sam coolly. "See if the swelling will go down."

"Wow. Hope your t-shirt for glee says 'über bitch,'" Kurt fired at her.

"Hope yours says 'likes boys dumb, lifeless, and subtle as a slab of cement.'"

With that, Santana ducked her way out from the infirmary, and Sam blinked. "Dumb" wasn't really a new word for anyone to use about him, but what did that stuff about cement even mean? And how could Santana say that when she was dating Dave Karofsky, who was totally heavier and slabbier and less subtle than Sam?

"Don't you pay any attention to Santana," said Kurt, grasping Sam's hand and tugging him towards the soft room insistently. "She's just pressed I stole you away from her, and she doesn't even know what she gave up. If she did, she'd be rampaging all over Tokyo right now, breathing fire."

Sam doubted that, but he didn't need any further encouragement to disregard Santana's bitchy comments, anyway. Quickly, while there was no one else in the infirmary section with them, Kurt slid the wall open and ushered Sam under the curtain.

Immediately, it hit Sam that it smelled different in the little secret closet. Lemony, but fresh and aired out. It smelled clean. He hadn't really disliked the old storage closet smell in the same way that he didn't exactly dislike the smell of the locker room, but the difference was palpable and pleasant.

Then his eyes started to adjust to the soft gray light glowing in the window and he could tell the room was different in other ways, too.

The bed was the usual bed, but beside it was a slim silver cabinet with a frosted glass door on the front. He was sure that hadn't been there before. There were things inside it, but Sam had no idea what. The paper towel dispenser had been taken off the wall, and the wall was a darker and more vivid blue than before, and glossier. The red plastic chair had been replaced with a sturdier-looking model with metal legs and black cushions on its back and seat, but so slender that it took up less room in the small space beside the bed. On the wood-paneled wall behind the chair, a neat series of metal hooks had been installed.

Sam craned to look for the Devo-inspired poster on the back of the door as Kurt shut it behind them, and found it had been replaced with a new copy with fresher colors and a different font. There were other posters, too, that Sam had never really taken the time to read, but they looked like they had been replaced with newer versions, too. One demanded, _REMEMBER YOUR SAFE WORD?_ Each corner had a simple icon: A red stoplight, a hand held up flat, a whistle, and a pig. Sam didn't know what the pig meant.

Grinning, Kurt reached for the light switch, which had been replaced with a small steel dial. He twisted it, and a gentle glow emanated from the ceiling, coming to life slowly rather than flipping on. The light shone in the shape of a white square, very slightly convex, and it looked more like calm daylight than fluorescents or yellow bulbs like the rest of the school used. It was weird to see the blue paint on the wall become brighter and for the room to lose its misty, shadowy feel, but Sam couldn't help looking around. The floor shone under his worn navy Converse. There was a small metal trash can that was smooth and rounded across the top like R2-D2 perched at the foot of the bed.

"It's different," Sam pointed out. He knew it was a stupid, obvious thing to say, but the soft room suddenly resembled a miniature nurse's office more than a really shady, grimy broom closet. It probably could've passed some kind of state inspection.

"I had it cleaned and stuff," Kurt replied coyly.

"You did??"

"Mm-hm! They did quite a thorough job, didn't they? Coach Sylvester even went the extra mile with that Ikea cabinet and new chair."

"Coach Sue?" echoed Sam. He was just astonished. Kurt had worked his magic on a formidable Domme like Coach Sue? He was amazing! And he was Sam's Dom.

"Well, you know me and bossing around teachers. Do you like the light I picked out?"

Sam stared up at it.

"It's bright," he said. "But, uh. It's soft, too?"

"I figured it'd be useful if someone needed to actually be able to see." Kurt reached for the dial, and the light fell low again, finally just fading away, leaving nothing but the watery daylight trying to come in through the slim window set just under the ceiling above the bed. Even though the small room had left Sam with a clinical impression lit up, with the light off it felt once again like they were in the familiar closet, and nothing other than Kurt demanded attention. "But we know our way around without it, don't we."

"Yes?" Sam said hopefully.

Kurt responded with, "Put your backpack under the bed."

"I saw some hooks."

"I know. I want to watch you bending over."

Grinning at his Dom's sly tone, Sam obediently bent at the waist to cram his pack onto the slats beneath the bed.

"Good boy," breathed Kurt. He pushed the new chair out of his way, apparently not seeing a need for it, and hung the strap of his messenger bag across one of the new hooks. Moving fast, he adeptly grabbed Sam's hips just as he was turning around again. Sam was given a push that turned him right back towards the bed, and Kurt sidled up so close behind him that his hips pressed right into Sam's ass. "Nah-ah. Stay where you are."

Surprise rang in Sam's whole body – Kurt was usually far more verbal than physical, so this was about the last thing he'd expected. Kurt was only a bit shorter than him, and while he didn't have shoulders as wide as Sam's or the upper body strength of someone who lifted weights, he was clearly strong, and his lithe body was more like Sam's than unlike it. Sam didn't even know how that made him feel.

Well. He did. Excited.

"Hands on the bed."

He responded immediately, hard-wired to obey. It was more of a lean than gripping at the safety rail in the bathroom had been, especially as he flattened his hands against the vinyl in front of him. He could hardly believe the exhilarated feeling creeping over him. Kurt was literally holding his hips in place, bracing him between his hands and pelvis, and had him bent over just enough to feel sorta like a bitch. If he couldn't get down on the floor and actually be on his knees or something, this felt like a close second.

"Your butt's so bare under these jeans," Kurt purred at him. "Are you liking that? Walking around school in your sexy jock strap with your ass bare?"

" – Yes," huffed Sam, after a beat of hot-faced difficulty. He let his head hang. It was just so heavy, and the urge to bow was running through his entire body, only he needed to try and stay as Kurt had him.

"Yeah?"

"Yes, Kurt."

"Aw, good. I like it, too." Kurt's hands reached around him, finding their way under his t-shirt to his fly. "I know I just gave you one this morning, but I'm gonna give you another check, cutie."

"Oh my gosh," Sam let out in a stunned whisper, stomach twisting with excitement.

Kurt laughed lowly. "Hm? What was that?"

"Please," Sam got out instead, throbbing in his strap right under Kurt's fingers as they opened his zip. "Please check. I wanna be good."

"I know you do, angel," Kurt murmured. "I know you wanna be my good boy. You know what you're not allowed to do, right?"

It took Sam, who was having an inner meltdown so hot and heavy that he could barely think, a few seconds – but once it hit him, he moaned plaintively. "Come?"

"Yep, you're right," his Dom said, pleased. His right hand wandered into Sam's open jeans and brazenly caressed his erection through the thin, almost gauzy-feeling cotton of his cup. He caught a sharp breath at the same time Sam did, as if he didn't expect to feel Sam so hard or so easily through the thin material. "Ah. Sam. This thing is flimsy! It's barely holding you."

It did feel likely his dick might just pop right out the side of the pouch as Kurt palmed him and rubbed him against his own belly, and Sam tried not to breathe, knowing he was much too hard much too fast and if he was allowed, he'd probably be blowing his wad in under a minute. But he wasn't allowed, and he knew it, and his body inwardly clutched to dam against the rising tide. Still, he groaned hollowly, stupidly wanting that coiling tension to peak anyway, and ached with disappointment when Kurt pulled his hand out of his jeans again.

He held still as Kurt fussed with his shirt and hoodie, pushing them up in back, then peeled his jeans down gently over Sam's awkward hard-on and naked ass.

"There," Kurt breathed, leaving Sam's jeans slouched around his thighs.

Warm hands delicately cupped right over the newly-revealed straps, sliding up them to the gray waistband and tracing over the brand name embedded in the elastic. The fly of Kurt's black jeans brushed his naked skin and Sam got a rush of goose bumps. Not only were Kurt's hands warm, but Sam could feel his body heat through his clothes.

"God, you don't even know what you look like to me right now, Sam. All bent over, just waiting..."

Sam did know, though. He did. He knew exactly what jock straps showed off. He knew how tempting they made what they covered, and what they didn't. He'd seen more than his fair share on his teammates since little league. He knew he was bared to Kurt like his ass was just served up on a platter, and what a tease it was, and that Kurt could do anything he wanted without even having to take the strap off Sam; he might as well be totally naked for Kurt, strategically covered everywhere except for his ass. Kurt could look at it, inspect it all he liked, touch it. Discipline it.

Fuck it.

He moaned as the thought crossed his mind.

Getting his ass fucked was still kind of an alien thought and it startled him to even have it, but he desperately wanted it anyway. He was Kurt's. He could recall just a sliver of the world-rending euphoria of admitting that Kurt owned him – and both his holes – from the day Kurt had collared him, and tried not to think about it. It was all he could do to keep his knees from buckling weakly. He'd almost fully repressed the details of his Dom fucking him; he had yet to really sort through it. But it was a fact he was happy about. He knew Kurt could do anything to him and he would be grateful. If Kurt did that to him, he would be sore again and would probably need to go directly to the locker room to shower, but he would be so lucky to be standing in the McKinley locker room with his ass used and his Dom's come leaking out, sticky and warm. The thought was so strong, he heard himself moan again.

"You're like any other typical horny jock," his Dom hummed, sounding fond. He had no idea what was in Sam's head right then, but he still knew – he was still right. His fingers were sliding around the elastic waistband of the jock strap, just exploring it curiously. "Aren't you, honey?"

"Yes, Kurt," Sam whispered.

"Yeah? But you like being a good boy for me, don't you?"

"Yes, Kurt..."

"You like being my hot little jock sub?"

Twin flicks on the curves of his ass cheeks made Sam wince, wildly responsive.

It took him a beat to comprehend. The straps. Kurt had slipped a finger under them both and given them a snap. They hadn't hurt any more than the paperback had hurt, but the gentle crack of elastic was audible enough to send him right back to where he'd been that morning – and just remembering Kurt smacking him casually with his English novel almost made him fold right in half. He rocked against the bed awkwardly, the vinyl giving slightly under his weight. His dick just pushed at the accommodating pouch of his jock like he was humping the air in front of him.

"Did that hurt?" Kurt demanded, rubbing Sam's back soothingly.

"No," Sam huffed.

After a moment of waiting for Sam to steady, Kurt took his hand away again. Gently, he slipped his fingers under the straps on Sam's jock once more, this time just feeling them and fussing over them, as far as Sam could discern – arranging them neatly, sliding them back where they were supposed to hold against him and feeling where they met and attached to his waistband under his hipbone. Sam waited, silently on edge for Kurt to snap the straps again. Instead he was touching Sam's jock all over, getting familiar with it. Sam crazily wondered if he would follow the straps all the way down between his cheeks, touch where they met over his taint –

But instead, Sam got another fierce little elastic snap on his right cheek, and pretty much left the planet for a few intense heartbeats.

It took a moment for the heat to rise fully in his skin, but when it did, it burned in his whole body, and Sam had to fight against joints that wanted to lock and break and leave him in an incoherent pile. He had to fight to keep strength in his arms to hold him in place. His skin tingled very slightly where Kurt had let the strap whap against it, but only in a tickling way that was already fading even as he registered it.

"Did _that_ hurt?"

"No," Sam gasped truthfully, even though it had about four times the force.

"Sam," Kurt said lowly, and gave him a casual palm on the left cheek, hand just resting uneasily.

"Yes, Kurt," Sam panted.

"I want you to tell me how many smacks your bare ass would like."

"Uh," Sam uttered, fumbling massively. Smacks? Like with _Catcher_? Or the straps? He couldn't even get his brain to give up a number, not even a completely random one. It took him several seconds. "Uh – I, um. T... twenty?"

"Twenty," Kurt echoed dubiously.

"Anything you want," Sam mumbled. Maybe that was a ludicrously high number, or maybe it was too low. He didn't know, so he hastily added, "Anything, Kurt. Anything you want."

He heard Kurt take a distinct inhale and let it out a second later before decision arrested him and his hand lifted, only to return immediately, landing a _thwap_ right where it had rested.

Sam jerked his head up in total disbelief.

Kurt's hand was deliberate and light, and he followed a moment later with another slap.

This time it was a little more confident, landing on him with a sense of having gotten in a practice swing. This was no book. It was his hand. His Dom's hand. Warm. Personal. Capable. Sam let out a shapeless noise of utter shock, and after a few moments, Kurt gave his cheek another palm-driven smack. The force of it skirted hard enough to steal Sam's breath, although not hard enough to make him flinch. It was just almost _perfect_. Sam didn't even know a spank could be perfect. He held himself obediently still, craving the next one and groaning when Kurt gave it to him.

The perfect slap was delivered several more times, steadier and steadier, but never any harder. Kurt started alternating between cheeks and left them both sparking, nerve endings for a moment lit up with the impression of Kurt's hand coming down against them and then stinging gently in the wake of it before they inevitably got another slapping.

Sam didn't know where his brain even went as each smack hit his skin, but eventually it clicked: Kurt was really, for-real spanking him. The only tether Sam could keep was the one where he knew he could not and would not cream his jock. Everything else in him collapsed and got washed away in a flood of adrenaline like he'd never felt before. He was responding to each slap and feel scraps of his voice in his throat, but he didn't really know what he sounded like. He was just clinging at the knowledge that he had to keep it together and bending there willingly, bare butt perked.

All too suddenly, Kurt stopped completely, leaving Sam's ass smarting and his injured gasps and grunts cut short.

His brain struggled to keep up. Had that been twenty? It seemed like half that, like Kurt had only barely gotten started. Sam's elbows were locked and his knees were jelly, shaking, and as his ass was given respite, it started to tingle even more. It felt like there were echoes of the spankings still crackling in his skin.

"That was for me, Sam," Kurt told him firmly, breaking what Sam only then registered to be silence. Sam could hear him taking in sharp, short breaths. "That wasn't a punishment. That was you submitting to your Dom's desires. I need you to understand that. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Sam huffed. He had no doubt that if Kurt wanted, he could spank him well into punishment territory, but it hadn't even occurred to him; he didn't feel disobedient at all. He actually felt really, really good.

"I need to hear what I told you in your own words."

"I'm – not in trouble. You would've given me a warning!"

Kurt let out a slow, controlled exhale and was silent for a moment.

"You're all pink now!" he finally tisked ruefully, sounding sympathetic. "Aw. My poor little sub!"

Sam let out a rumbling hum of acknowledgment, and Kurt ran a warm, apologetic hand lightly over Sam's ass cheeks, cupping each gently.

"You did so good, sweetie," he said, syrupy. He sounded so over-the-top sweet that Sam had absolutely no idea whether he really meant it or if he was just saying it to tease, but it was sort of humiliating either way, since Sam's response to the tone was just another rush of harsh arousal.

"Thank you, Kurt," he whispered. His skin felt like it was burning under Kurt's hand. "Thank you. Thank you –"

"My poor cutie. You didn't know wearing a jock strap would make your Dom do that to you, did you?"

Sam inhaled, thrilled, dick throbbing, and managed, "No," and tried not to fall face-first into the vinyl. His elbows were giving out. He added urgently, "Kurt, please, can I bend over more."

Kurt let out a rather sunny laugh. "Please do."

Sam's hot cheek smooshed against vinyl. He exhaled over it loudly, fingers pointlessly raking over something he couldn't grasp and the rings on his cuffs dragging along with them. The shifting of his weight was a relief, but there was no escape from the tension and heat of his own arousal.

"I can't even believe what I'm seeing," Kurt sighed behind him. "You and your big, broad shoulders and ridiculously trim waist and cute little blushy bare butt. God, Sam. Are you still hard after all that?"

"Yes," Sam answered thoughtlessly, sweating against the bed with the knowledge that Kurt was looking at him. He'd been on display for Kurt a couple of times like this, but bent over on his bed with his butt much higher in the air. He'd showed Kurt even more, been even more subservient and bared. Kurt had seen him covered in come and with his mouth full of it. Still, he felt pleasing; even though he knew showing off his body was kinda debasing and he worried about how he looked, he couldn't help but feel in his element doing it – especially if Kurt liked it. He added in a small groan, "I'm trying really hard not to come... I wanna be good for you."

"Aw, you're trying hard, are you?" asked Kurt, sounding amused. Now Sam knew he was teasing on purpose. "What would happen if I played with your dick? Would that make you come?"

"I'd – I'd try not to," said Sam, shuddering right on the bed.

"Yeah? You'd still let me play with you, huh? Even though you aren't allowed to come."

"Yes – I –" Sam felt like he could barely speak. Still, he choked out, "I'm your sub. You can do anything you want with me."

"Turn around for me, then," said Kurt. "Let me see how hard you are."

Just like that, Sam was pushing himself up off the sticky vinyl again, hips twisting, freshly smacked bare ass easing back onto the edge of the cushion as he leaned clumsily on his hands, letting Kurt see the stretch of his jock in front of him. The strap was giving enough that it totally showed off the heavy lean of his erection and thin enough for every ridge to be fully visible through the fabric, which looked lightly webbed now that it was stretched so much. His knob bulged roundly just under the waistband, and he'd leaked enough precome to soak a quarter-sized patch of the strap through. Where the material was wet, it had become almost transparent and was clinging to the head of his dick.

After staring at his own hard-on, Sam fixed his eyes on Kurt, whose face was deeply flushed. He looked nearly as red as his jacket, but seemed so at ease. If Sam hadn't been able to see that blush, he never would have guessed Kurt was near as aroused as he, Sam, was.

"Mm," Kurt commented, stepping in closer. He opened Sam's knees around his own as he did so, Sam's spanked ass shifting on the bed as he accommodated and opened his legs around Kurt. Fingers drifted over Sam's erection lazily, the backs of Kurt's knuckles rubbing back and forth over the thin cotton and nudging his dick. "What a big cock."

Sam's abs and thighs strained, a helpless grunt escaping him.

"I love how hard you get for me. You know that, right?"

Trying to take a steadying breath, Sam nodded.

"It's beautiful. So full. I can tell it needs to come," Kurt murmured, fingers tucking around it to stroke it, manipulating it almost as easy as he could have if Sam had just been free-balling. "When's the last time you got off, Sam?"

"Night before last," Sam whispered urgently, wanting Kurt to keep touching him and yet doing his best to push his pleasure down and deal with the feelings Kurt was so good at giving him. It was so much more intense when Kurt was touching him than when he was whacking off on his own. Even if he was thinking about Kurt while he did it, he could never think what Kurt was going to say or do. He didn't want to ignore how good it felt totally. He wanted to feel it. He wanted to remember how tight and hot his belly was and how Kurt was basically jacking him slowly right through his jock strap. He never wanted to forget Kurt touching him through it.

"Oh, really? You didn't touch yourself after I tucked you in?"

"No!"

"Aw, of course you behaved yourself, you little angel," said Kurt understandingly. "But you have been getting off, haven't you. In the shower?"

"Yes," Sam admitted. It felt so good to say that while Kurt was touching him, he could have died.

"So not just that one time?"

Sam shook his head and whispered, "Every night."

"Mm, that's my good boy," his Dom purred. "That's just what you've been needing, huh."

"Yes..."

"That's right. You know that's what I like. My sub, feeling so good and sexy."

"Please," Sam blurted, tensing, "I'm – close –"

Mercifully, Kurt eased off, letting him go and wisely waiting a moment before he whispered, "Good job, Sam. I depend on your honesty to know when to stop."

Thanks was profuse and right on the tip of Sam's tongue, but like the idea of touching himself being what Kurt liked for him to do, it was too hot and alive in him to manage. He was afraid that saying those words to his Dom would feel so good in the wake of all that praise that he might nut if they actually passed his lips, even though Kurt wasn't touching him anymore. He nodded compulsively instead, hearing himself whimper at the tail end of an exhale.

"Shh, shh. It's okay, cutie. I'll take good care of you. Lie back now," Kurt instructed, in such a delicate voice that Sam knew he was being careful, too.

Sam moved to obey. He felt an intense spike to the gut just leaning back, thinking that maybe Kurt might climb onto him as he had before. He would definitely come if Kurt did that. Maybe Kurt would let him, though?

Something in him shut the thought down immediately. He couldn't assume that. He needed to be prepared, and be ready to admit it if Kurt started to get on top of him, instead of giving into the greedy desire to have his Dom lying against him. He tried to grip at the bed, but the cushion was too stiff and slick; he balled his hands into fists at his sides instead, pretending his cuffs were strapped down somehow.

"There you go. I bet being obedient feels good for such a little sub," Kurt whispered.

Just when he thought he couldn't get any hotter or more turned on, he did. Sam's insides ached as his internal temperature spiked, high and feverish. He wanted to be obedient for Kurt, and Kurt was letting him obey, letting him submit, and it was all because of Kurt that he could be good and obedient. Staring up at Kurt, he felt like crying out of gratitude. Quinn had never accepted him like this, never saw how hard he really tried or how much he wanted to be seen as Kurt seemed to see him. He didn't know why everything was so different with Kurt.

Catching his stare, Kurt gave him a warm smile with tucked pink lips and brought a hand to his cheek.

"You're going to let me play with you some more, aren't you, honey."

"Yes, Kurt," Sam moaned meekly, his throat thick with both arousal and emotion. He didn't know how it was possible, but he was pleasing his Dom. He didn't feel deserving of it.

"Yeah? Even though you don't get to come, you're being such a good boy, letting your Dom pull you right out of your jock," Kurt murmured almost musically, doing exactly that. It was so easy to get Sam out of it, it was stupid; he arched, hips flexing helplessly, buzzing ass cheeks totally up off the vinyl for a hot beat as he lost control and thrust his dick through Kurt's pale pink fingers.

He immediately regretted it, whimpering, a hair away from shooting his wad.

"Too close," he wheezed timidly, both at himself and Kurt, flopping on the bed with his eyes squeezed shut. "Tooclose – tooclose –"

Kurt abandoned his dick and gave him a no-nonsense pat on the chest. "Good boy. Breathe..."

Sam sucked in several breaths before he was able to slow them shakily and spiral down from the peak he'd nearly smashed into.

"There you go," Kurt murmured, and without warning, dropped his hand to take Sam's cock into it. He eased his grip until he was only stroking Sam lightly with three fingertips, like a tease, but Sam still whimpered, and Kurt whispered, "I know. You feel like you're gonna come, don't you. But you're not going to come until I want you to, angel. Do you hear me?"

"Yes," Sam managed, once again straining towards incoherence.

"I know it's hard, but you can do it – I know you can," Kurt reminded him. "You're a very good boy, Sam. I know how you want permission to come. I know you know when you're going to come because you always ask if you can. You can tell me to stop so you don't lose it before I'm done playing with you."

Dimly aware he was leaking precome over Kurt's fingers, Sam nodded, a warm feeling of safety buoying him. He could red light – what a relief. He obediently reached for all the self-control he could muster as Kurt stroked him carefully. He breathed; tried to relax; tried to steel every muscle; tried only to think of being good – but to his surprise, thinking of how he was being obedient seemed to be an even deeper, wider well of pleasure. It made what Kurt was doing feel good in a whole other way, and it all tangled inevitably together. His balls and stomach were both aching deeply, but he was being so good, and he didn't want to stop being good. Talk about mixed feelings.

He lasted at least a minute before the thoughts he was holding onto and pure physical tension had him involuntarily close to peaking, and Kurt murmured, "God. I love your dick so much."

"S – stop," Sam gaped, voiceless.

To his relief, Kurt did, nimbly dropping him against the elastic strap still in place across his own belly, and Sam heard himself let out a tremulous moan. It didn't even sound like him, but it was. His gut pounded with a searing ache of protest.

"Gold star," Kurt told him, flirty.

Sam tried to speak, but all that came out was a bewildered but utterly happy noise.

"You're so perfect and gorgeous," his Dom whispered, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. "Look at you. Your body's so beautiful..."

He drew Sam's t-shirt up to his rib cage, caressing each arch of his ribs affectionately and tracing down between his abs all the way to his sparse happy trail, which was cut over by the gray waistband of his jock. Sam's stomach fluttered, the touch to his pubes shooting through him like lightning and eliciting another incoherent groan.

After a minute of just touching his jock with calm interest, Kurt finally palmed Sam's dick, exquisitely casual – although, Sam couldn't keep from thinking about how casually Kurt had touched his ass like that before spanking it repeatedly. A light, involuntary shudder wracked through him, partially just because Kurt was touching him again and partially because his brain seemed to think it was a possibility that Kurt might spank his dick.

But Kurt just took him in that delicate hold between his fingertips, soft skin wet with what Sam's dick was letting out onto his stomach and sliding along Sam's shaft with sinful, slick ease. It wasn't ten seconds before Sam was squeaking, "Please stop."

Kurt cooperatively did, letting him go and letting him attempt to get it together.

"I'm so proud of you, Sam," he murmured. "I'm just teasing you so much, aren't I. I can see how much you're trying to – hm. How did you put it... abide by my wishes. You're my good boy. My good, sweet little sub who needs to come so bad. Can you say that, Sam? Say what you are to me."

"'M your... good – s –"

Sam couldn't even make it any further than that. The words were so astonishingly powerful that he was flattened by them in an instant. He didn't dare continue, even though his head ringing with them. Good sub. He was Kurt's sub, his good boy. Gold star. Kurt had spanked him, and he'd been good. He didn't understand what he'd done to deserve feeling like this. He didn't know why his Dom wanted him endlessly simmering on the very edge of boiling over and to be so full of feelings he couldn't speak, could hardly breathe. But he didn't have to understand. He just had to obey.

"Can't," he finally huffed, clipped. "I'll c – c –"

"Shh, shh, shh," Kurt let out in comforting, soft breaths; Sam obediently abandoned trying to vocalize. It was getting harder and harder to be on the verge of orgasm, hearing his Dom say things that had his soul fit to burst, yet not succumb to the pounding need. "I hear you. Just relax. You won't come. You're not allowed to, are you."

No. No, he definitely wasn't.

"Breathe for me, cutie. Don't even think about it, 'cause I'm not letting you come this time. Do you hear me?"

Just attempting to respond in some way, Sam grunted, and Kurt's hand returned to his chest to give it a friendly patting. His hand stayed there, stilling over his sternum and petting every now and then.

Time slid by formlessly, nothing more than Sam's heart beat pounding throughout his entire body and up against Kurt's hand. He knew he was in the soft room on the infirmary bed and that Kurt was next to him and that he was dripping precome all over himself, but none of it mattered as much as the fact that he'd obeyed.

Once the certainty that he wasn't about to blow despite all his iron-clad intentions set in, the feeling was so big and warm and comforting, Sam knew it was better than the fleeting feeling he would have gotten if he had come, and wouldn't have traded it for release even though it was what his body was trembling for. He felt so good. Like, really good. Relieved and amazed, and like he had behaved, and he weighed nothing, free from the shackles of the world because the only cuffs that mattered were the ones Kurt had chosen for him and allowed him to wear.

Sam didn't even flinch when Kurt reached down, gingerly wiped away some of the slick precome on his belly with a soft tissue, and slipped his dick back into his jock and straightened it over him with a delicate touch. His stones were pretty damn angry at him, full and still on edge to shoot the wad he'd built up so much pressure around, and his heart was still thumping hard, but he didn't care. He felt like happy-sobbing and he was utterly mired in it.

"Sweetie?" Kurt asked after a quiet spell. "Can I lie down with you? Promise I'm not going to tease you any more right now."

For the first time since he'd locked them down in his mind, Sam's arms moved, both of them stretching out for Kurt openly – like a little kid who wanted to be picked up.

He felt Kurt carefully ease onto the bed with him and pulled him into a greedy hug, which made Kurt laugh and relax, perched atop him regally. If Kurt had done that ten minutes ago, the feel of his warm weight would've made Sam go off like crazy, and he was still hard under Kurt's hips. But right then, Sam had pushed past his body's desires, and being pinned by his Dom was all he could conceive of wanting. Fuzzy-brained, Sam clung around his slender middle and luxuriated.

"You can be in sub heaven all you want, Sam," Kurt whispered, like he had his finger on the pulse of Sam's internal workings. "You have till the bell rings."

Then Kurt rested his cheek on Sam's shoulder. Sam mumbled, incoherently happy. He didn't know what he said, or if he even used real words. (Knowing him, it could've been Na'vi.)

 

*

 

An eon later, Sam was in the boys' bathroom again. This time it was the one by the choir room, and he and the other glee guys were all getting ready before heading to the auditorium for their Gaga number, changing jeans and t-shirts.

Sam, who still felt idiotically subtastic, pulled his t-shirt on in one of the stalls, where he'd also pulled on the black jeans supplied for the number. Normally he would've just changed in front of everyone like in the locker room, but he was wearing his jock, and his ass was red. Well, he didn't know that for sure. It just felt... sensitive, like it wasn't liable to forget that it had been smacked anytime soon. He wasn't sure if anybody should see what his Dom had done to him, even though he felt unmistakably proud.

With one foot on the edge of the toilet seat, Sam gamely attempted to tie the neat, new white shoelaces on the Converse low-tops that were part of their costume into actual bows. Until Mr. Schue had seen him fumbling with the dress shoes he'd worn for the boys' mash-up last year, securing the laces into double knots and tucking the extraneous lace into each shoe, this was a thing Sam had basically stopped doing. He was bad at it. He didn't know what it was, but his laces often slipped loose within a few minutes and required retying several times a day. With running shoes and stuff, knotting them up was okay, and he'd done it much of the time at boarding school, too, until his roommate had taken to tying his shoes for him every morning before class. But Mr. Schue had made him stay after glee a few times and practice his bows.

"Did you and Brittany collaborate on your shirts?" Artie was asking Puck.

"Nope. It was Ms. P. She was being all C.O.D. and matchy-matchy with the shirts."

"It's O.C.D.," Artie corrected him.

"Whatever. This is her doing."

"I'm feeling pretty good about this week," Finn said optimstically. "I mean, did I break Rachel's nose with my dancing? Yes. And did my girlfriend have a massive meltdown? Yes, again. But she's doing better now. She came to school and she'll be in glee. So please don't bring up those posters or talk about her 'Lucy Caboosey' shirt."

"Not gonna lie, I see the 'before' appeal," Puck commented. "Fatties are always the freakiest. They're just so desperate. You wanna get in her pants, just whisper in her ear about how skinny she is."

"Hey, don't talk about her like that," said Finn, sounding tired.

Sam put his foot down again, laces dangling loose. He just didn't have it in him, and didn't care. He reached for his hoodie to pull it back on, the topic the guys were shooting back and forth helping to keep him from just leaning against the stall and floating off totally.

"Worked for me, is all I'm sayin.'"

"Guys," Mike interrupted. "Stop talking about Quinn. Sam's in here."

"Oh, right," said Puck, who had probably forgotten Sam existed. "Sorry, Sam. Forgot you struck out so royally."

Clutching his backpack in one hand and his discarded clothes in the other, Sam opened up the stall and gave Puck an awkward smile, which he then transferred to Finn.

"It's cool," he said. Finn was so tall, Sam had to look up at him, and he was six foot, himself. "Uh. She's with the right sub now, and, uh. We're friends. She probably knows what she's doing. So good luck with all that."

This seemed to surprise Finn, who nodded in appreciation and returned Sam's smile.

Unmoved, Puck gave Sam a flat once-over that Sam was getting increasingly familiar with, but he was just reading Sam's t-shirt.

"'Trouty Mouth.' Evocative."

"Santana," Sam said, tucking his clothes under one arm and zipping up his soft green hoodie.

They waited around for Artie to emerge, Sam trying his best to just not think about Kurt taking him to the handicapped stall and giving him a jock check and spanking him with his own homework, and when he was ready to roll, Puck grabbed his chair by the handles to push him out. Sam was thoughtlessly filing out, the last in line, when a light bulb flickered on in his brain. He grabbed Mike's arm.

"Wait, can I talk to you real quick?" he asked lowly.

Mike stopped short, surprised.

"Guys, we're gonna be late," protested Finn, hanging at the door.

"This'll just take a sec," said Sam, waving Finn on.

"What's up?" Mike asked as Finn left them behind.

"Prom," blurted Sam.

After a pause, Mike asked, "What about it?"

"Uh."

Now that he was actually trying to talk about it, Sam too stopped short. He had the words in his brain, but they got stuck in his throat, even though he knew Mike well enough to know that Mike probably knew who he wanted to go with and probably didn't care.

Sure enough, Mike prompted expectantly, "Are you gonna ask someone?"

"Maybe, unless it's just... obvious...?" Sam tried, squinting.

"Obvious?" Mike repeated.

With a sigh, Sam sacked up. "I wanna take Kurt, okay!"

"Oh. Yeah, I guess that's pretty obvious," Mike said.

"It is?"

"From where I sit at lunch every day, yeah."

"Oh. Well. Yeah. I know that." Probably no one outside of Kurt saw him so openly subby as much as the crew he sat with at lunch. "What I mean is, did you ask Tina, or was it just obvious you guys were gonna go, since you're together?"

"Both," said Mike, which Sam did not find helpful. "When posters started going up, I was like, 'You wanna go?' and she said she did and that was that. No big deal. If you want to take him, just ask if he wants to go."

"So that's okay? I ask him? Even though he's my Dom?"

"Sure. I guess. Unless he forbid you or already said he didn't want to go, or something."

"He hasn't said anything! That's kinda the problem! I don't know how it works here. If it was Quinn, I would know already. I would know if I was supposed to ask. It was my job to be chivalrous. I always opened doors for her. I was always a gentleman. I mean, I tried. But with Kurt – it's just a different vibe. He doesn't need me to be a knight for him. Sometimes I open doors for him and sometimes he opens them for me, but it just depends, so I don't know! How do we even dance? Who leads? Help, man! _Dirty Dancing_ didn't prepare me for this!"

Mike considered Sam's manic eyes and wild gesturing for a second, then offered, "Want me to ask Tina if Kurt's mentioned anything about prom to her?"

Sensing that Mike didn't know any better than he did about all this guy-on-guy stuff, even if he was the best dancer in New Directions, Sam nodded reticently.

"Consider it done."

Sam exhaled. "Thanks."

"You should buy tickets just in case," Mike added. "That way, whatever happens, you're prepared. You can just return them if he doesn't want to go."

"How much are they?"

"I think, like, sixty bucks now."

"Sixty bucks?? Each?"

"Yeah. They started at twenty, but they go up in price ten bucks every week, so you should get 'em soon as possible."

"Damn," Sam said, flabbergasted. He'd vaguely known buying tickets for a formal dance was a thing, but dropping over a hundred bucks to go to a junior prom held in the gym seemed expensive to him. He'd been planning to take his birthday off work so he could spend it with his family and with his Dom, but maybe it would be smarter to take the shift and be able to swing two tickets. There was dinner to consider, too, and corsages. Wait, were those a thing for guys? Mike probably wouldn't know any better than Sam did about corsages, either, so he just sighed, "All right. Thanks, man."

"Sure," said Mike. "Speaking of help, do you need a refresher course on your basic granny knot?"

"What?"

Mike laughed and crouched in front of Sam.

"Here, I'll just do these up really quick, or they're gonna bug me."

"Oh, hey," said Sam, his ears flushing hot as Mike tugged at the tongue of his left shoe. "You don't – you don't have to do that –"

"Don't want you to trip and fall on your face or anything," said Mike. True to his word, he was quick, efficiently pulling Sam's laces then working them into a tidy bow. "One busted nose is enough for any show choir, and you know how competitive Rachel is. If she feels threatened by you, she might bite."

Sam looked away awkwardly, feeling his face turning a deep, dismayed red, and said, "One time I bit my lip open tripping over my shoelace."

"Well, this will ensure there won't be a dramatic re-enactment," said Mike, straightening. He grabbed at his hat and adjusted it. "Now let's go proclaim our insecurities in front of a non-existent audience!"

 

*

 

Glee had scarcely been dismissed for a second before Sam's Dom pounced.

Well, he didn't literally pounce, but it still felt like he did, because he whirled around on Sam with all his attention, grabbed him by both hands in front of everyone and pulled Sam in close to him, right in the bustle of everyone departing from their gathering around the piano for the post-"Born This Way" every-one-of-you-is-special and that-was-great-guys-but-Nationals-are-in-three-weeks pep talk.

Sam blinked; Kurt was being really... physical. It was so unusual for him that it really caught Sam off-guard. They were usually incredibly sparing with public displays in glee, in light of Quinn and Finn and Santana and all the broken relationship drama. But Santana had skipped glee, and Quinn and Finn weren't taking it easy on Rachel so there was drama anyway, so Kurt and Sam showing restraint in front of others had become more, like, just their personal comfort level. Usually Kurt just touched his cheek or held his elbow. Every now and then he fussed with Sam's hair or gave him some petting in study hall. Holding hands was still sort of a new thing. But today, Kurt must've felt different. He'd lead Sam around by his hoodie and grabbed him by the hips and... stuff.

"Cutie," he said in a low voice. "I wanna take you home."

"My, um... 5:05..."

"No need to catch a bus every day, is there? I can take you home every now and then, since I know where you live. Can't I?"

"If you really want... Is that okay?" Sam wondered, not oblivious to Puckerman smirking at him as he trailed along after Zizes in his _I'M WITH STOOPID_ t-shirt that was probably sort of accurate.

"Mm-hm," Kurt hummed. He leaned in so close his nose brushed Sam's before he simply smiled and gave Sam a strong tug stage left.

Several other glee clubbers were heading back to change into their street clothes, but Kurt and Sam just booked it. They made cursory stops to retrieve the jackets they'd ripped off as part of the number to reveal the words printed on their tees, and to grab their bags, and then Kurt was leading him by the cuff out the auditorium door towards the parking lot. Kurt was carrying the folded stack of their clothes. Sam just tried not to trip as Kurt pulled him all the way across the parking lot. His heart was starting to pound; were they in a hurry? Or was he nervous to have Kurt take him home? Or was it that he felt a little like he might be in trouble, even if he wasn't? Kurt's grip on his cuff was so authoritative, he felt kind of squirmy.

"Give me your backpack and stuff, then get in the back seat," Kurt told him over his shoulder.

Sam handed his hoodie and backpack to his Dom; it piled Kurt's arms full, and he wanted to help carry that junk and pack it into the trunk, if that was what Kurt wanted. But it wasn't. Kurt wanted him to get in the back seat. So he did, climbing into the passenger side and shutting the door obediently. He wondered if he should fasten his seat belt.

After a minute, the trunk slammed, and Kurt rounded the driver's side. Sam watched him out the window with unblinking, laser-focused eyes. Kurt's arms were extremely bare and pale in the late afternoon sunlight. They were rarely bare, Sam realized. Kurt usually had on at least two layers, if not three, and usually wore long sleeves. His Dom in simple jeans, a t-shirt, and Chuck Taylors was something Sam had never seen before. Kurt's sleeves were even rolled up twice, showing off a couple inches more bicep than Sam was showing. He had some nice muscles, Sam was somewhat startled to see. They weren't defined, but they were so guy-ish.

Kurt popped open the back door and climbed in, somehow graceful. He grinned at Sam, hips flexibly lifting in a way that actually got Sam kinda boned as he shoved his car keys into his pocket. He dropped into the seat again and pulled the door shut behind him, sealing them into relative quiet from the noise of traffic on the main street nearby.

"I know what you're thinking," he announced, looking at Sam and twisting on the spot, one ankle tucking up under his thigh and his knee touching Sam's thigh. "I promised to let you service me."

" _Oh_ ," said Sam, heart beating hard in his chest. Truthfully, he was hardly thinking anything, and he'd actually completely forgotten about that – of course, the one time the offer of service hadn't been at his request, he forgot!! He was so dumb! They were in the car and everything, too, where Kurt seemed to be more open to it. But before he could say anything else, Kurt went on.

"I'm still going to let you, but not right now."

"...But – please," Sam managed, injured, the disappointment making his stomach sink.

"Later, sweetie. I promise, I'll let you service me for as long as you want," Kurt told him, reaching over. He had his left hand under Sam's t-shirt, slowly and clumsily undoing the button on his black jeans, before it fully hit Sam that was what he was doing. He sucked in an alarmed breath. "I was a little worried, letting you go off to Spanish after taking you on that little trip – which I know I shouldn't have done. When I saw you trailing into the auditorium with Mike, you looked so... I don't know. Lost. I was worried you'd forget the steps to the number. But you stuck to Mike's cues and got through it, didn't you."

Sam's zip came open.

Kurt whispered, "I know I shouldn't do this here, either – play with my sub some more. Should I stop?"

"You – you can do anything you want," Sam groaned dizzily, slumping. There wasn't a head rest in the back seat, so his abruptly heavy head fell back till his chin was jutting.

Kurt had barely just gotten his fly down, fingers only brushing against the pouch of his jock, but Sam's whole body felt like it was plunging, being forcibly submerged, and no part of him even wanted to fight it. It didn't even make sense, how Kurt could put him all the way back in his place so fast. Probably the only reason he didn't mess up was that Mike had tied his laces for him; muscle memory had done the rest, and he seemed to recall not doing the steps correctly several times and just bumbling on, as usual. It was almost like he'd been sleep-walking through the last half of the day, including the Lady Gaga number, but now Kurt was pulling his scattered, foggy senses in tight. At the same time, Sam's knees were falling open wide in surrender, his ankles overlapping clumsily in the foot well. His body was just Kurt's playground.

And if Kurt playing with him some more meant anything like earlier, he knew he'd be struggling not to come again. He didn't think he could dare to wonder if Kurt would let him come or keep him from it again. He just hoped Kurt would let him obey and help him be good, even if he just wanted to bring Sam to the edge and watch him teeter again. If watching Sam try really hard to be good pleased him, it was more than Sam could have asked for to have another chance to behave.

Kurt hummed at him and said, "It's so easy for me to get your dick right out of this strap, isn't it, sweetie."

"Yes, Kurt," Sam responded, dazed. It really was as easy as going commando; the pouch just nudged right aside, undemanding, and he was in Kurt's hand, stiffening by the second with raging tugs of blood.

"Is that why you boarding school boys like 'em so much?"

"Mm," admitted Sam, dimly embarrassed. Well, that was one of the pros, for sure.

"Look at this," Kurt muttered, stroking him from root to tip slowly. "You've been hard all day long, huh, wearing your jock strap for me."

Groping for the door handle so he could have the equivalent of a safety rail to squeeze, Sam managed to nod.

"I know," said his Dom. "You were so hard this morning! First thing. Remember what you said? That you were gonna die? Oh, Sam. I loved it so much. I thought about nothing else all morning. Then later," Kurt continued, speaking right over Sam's whimper, "in the soft room, you bent over for me – showed off your ass in that strap. You know what that did to me, right? And you took your little spanking so well. I was so amazed. I think you were, too. You almost came when I touched you. You kept getting harder and harder for me. Redder and redder. Till I had this pretty sub dick of yours so swollen. Totally rigid. Dripping wet. I could feel it in you, a second away, if I would just let you..."

Kurt's thumb nudged his glans, his fingertips sliding right up over his knob till it just slipped from them and thumped against Sam's belly. Just like that, his touch was gone, taken away again.

Sam was almost right back there in the nurse's closet, able to feel it in his muscle memory like his body had felt the dance routine. The more Kurt talked about how hard he'd been and how much he'd wanted to come, the more he felt exactly like that right now. He knew the feeling fairly well anyway; he'd taken a lot of cold showers after dates with Quinn. But he'd never let it get so extreme, and even though she'd dry-humped him a couple of random times and gotten him teasingly close, Quinn certainly hadn't actually tested his limits, either. Usually if he pushed it back, that was that, until the next time his hormones flared up on him. Sam had never almost come and yet forced it back so many times in a row. 

"And I almost let you," Kurt whispered, and unexpectedly leaned in to kiss Sam's cheek, nudging his nose against it and nuzzling in until he had Sam's head turning away and was kissing his neck with warm, gentle lips. Sam was barely anything but a puddle and a hard-on. "I almost gave you permission. I wanted to see you come on your abs. I wanted to see if you'd blow it really hard after all that teasing. But you wanted to obey so bad! And you were being so good, letting me do whatever I wanted to you. You gave me all of your trust and obedience, just like last night, and followed directions so well. I had you right where I wanted you." Kurt's hand crept around him again, jacking him loosely, lips still freely pressing in small kisses up and down the column of his throat. "And you don't know what I wanted to do to you."

It took Sam several seconds, especially because Kurt was kissing his neck and he was, again, trying to hold the tide back.

"You spanked me," he breathed. Kurt had just said so, but Sam still felt uncertain somehow.

"I did," drawled Kurt. "And you sure asked for a lot of spankings, didn't you, cutie."

Sam didn't even know what to say.

"Guess _Catcher_ finally piqued your interest. Who knew all it would take was giving you a pat on the rear? You're such a jock. It kills me."

"Please, 'm gonna –" Sam huffed, on edge.

Kurt casually paused with Sam's dick propped in his fingers, breaths warm and intimate in Sam's ear.

"Should I let you?"

"Please," Sam said immediately. As Kurt's sub, he wanted to tell Kurt that he would do anything Kurt wanted and that it was his decision, but the word came out of him from a more needy, suffering place.

"Oh?" Kurt asked, sounding interested. "Have you had enough of my teasing?"

"Honestly – I want – I wanna keep being your sub – I wanna – be good for you! But I'm not gonna be able to choke it back anymore if you keep getting me so close, and I don't wanna... jizz in my sleep. I can't do that. Please. I wanna be good, but I'm –" Sam was so mortified just mentioning it, he let go of the door and stretched his arm over his face, hiding in the crook of his elbow like an idiot. His voice was muffled as he made himself finish, "I don't know what would happen – I don't want to mess up my sleeping bag like I messed up your furry thing. Please, please don't make me do that. I'll do anything else you want. I just can't –"

"Okay, Sam," Kurt reassured him. "I won't make you cream your little sleeping bag, sweetie. Arm down, please, so I can see your face."

Without the protective covering, Sam's face burned openly, and he found that hot tears were pricking in the corners of his eyes as he obediently turned his face so Kurt could see it.

"It was smart of you to tell me that," Kurt murmured. "You can always be honest with me, Sam, and it's okay to have limits. It's good for me to know things you don't like. I promise I'll take care and make sure you can be a good boy when you're all tucked in."

"Thanks," said Sam, although the swelling in his chest that followed wasn't relief and gratitude so much as a weird, nonsensical letdown. It was so acute that it informed him cruelly that some part of him did want to cream his sleeping bag, even though the idea was beyond bad. Some part of him had felt that wrench of disappointment Kurt had stopped teasing him with _Catcher_ in the bathroom that morning. And some part of him right then did want to be so subbed out and so teased by his Dom that he couldn't help his own state, and even if he was sopping wet in his own warm load, wheezing on the motel floor, it wasn't his fault. He was just a sub.

He didn't know what was wrong with him.

Tears raced hotly down his cheeks, even though he wasn't so disappointed or relieved he was crying about it. There was just so much in him he didn't even understand, and Kurt always easily found it and brought it to the surface. The amount of times tears had started to spill while he was just talking on the phone with Kurt was pushing double digits.

He became aware after a moment that Kurt was gazing at him, and he focused, lifting his lids to meet his Dom's eyes reluctantly, ashamed.

"I'm going to let you come before I take you home, Sam," said Kurt, giving him a smile. "I don't want you to worry about your sleeping bag."

Nodding reluctantly, Sam lowered his gaze.

"By the look on your face, I can tell you think you don't deserve to. But I think you deserve it. You wore your jock strap like a good boy and let me tease you all day and you've been honest and tried your best and given me so much trust. Won't it feel good to come, finally? I love your come, Sam. If I say you can come, it means I want your gorgeous load."

Sam squeaked.

"Where do you think I should let you blow it?" Kurt asked, biting his lip in a way that didn't conceal the mischievous quirk of his mouth.

Was that a serious question? Sam didn't know, but for a few seconds, he tried his best to think of a place, like the soft room, or the mall parking lot instead of this parking lot...?

But Kurt had his jeans open and his hard-on out so blatantly already... he must have meant where Sam's actual load should wind up. Sam could think of a few places, like his own abs, with his t-shirt pulled up. Or not. Maybe the tall black letters that said _TROUTY MOUTH_ could stand a dousing. Or maybe... in his jock strap... even though he had to go home in it, and it would soak his black jeans – which he needed to return to Tina, since they belonged to the glee club, technically. But maybe he could come all over them and ask for some time to take them to the laundromat before turning them in.

All those options seemed kind of masochistic.

"On myself? That's all I can think of," he finally mumbled, awkwardly plucking at his t-shirt. "But I'll come anywhere you want. I would be so lucky to come anywhere you let me, Kurt. Anywhere you say."

"Mm, sweet boy. I know exactly where I want your come," said his Dom, and kissed the collar of Sam's tee before leaning into his lap and shocking him by sinking Sam's length into his warm, wet mouth.

Sam's loose fist smacked clumsily against the door in three places as he grappled for – he didn't even know what. He was wracking in the seat. He finally got his fingers around the plastic assist handle above the window and fisted it for dear life, extremely unsure and almost embarrassed, as he had been when Mike had decided to tie his shoes for him.

But Kurt hummed at him, sounding satisfied, mouth sucking all around the head of his dick, and that noise was all it took to pin Sam into abrupt submission and render him motionless. His whole being narrowed down to the hard pulsing in his belly and the hot pulling of Kurt's mouth around his shaft, at odds with those pulses, and he existed in unexpected nirvana of it for an amazing few seconds before the tension broke almost painfully and he was coming with a wounded groan.

Kurt emitted a surprised grunt, but it was only just beginning. And Sam was helpless. Every wad that shot out of him and into the heat of Kurt's mouth felt crazy; he'd held it back so many times now, and he never in a million years would have guessed that when Kurt finally let him come it would be like this. In his mouth.

The quick, spastic fluttering and flaring of his balls and dick seemed separate from the slow-mo supernova of feelings blossoming through his body. He let the wave crash over him repeatedly with mixed ecstasy and guilt, the feeling of emptying a distant backing beat. He wasn't worthy, and he knew it, but Kurt was allowing him this anyway. Kurt was taking his come right in his mouth. Oh, God, he wasn't _worthy_! But he was Kurt's sub. It wasn't his say. How he could feel so deeply submissive with Kurt doing this for him, he didn't know.

Everything had whited out a little, faded and become the world as viewed through frosted glass, when Kurt sat up again, one hand clutching Sam's knee firmly for balance.

Sam's eyelids were almost totally closed, but he could still see Kurt's mouth bowed gently and the shiny smear of jizz racing down his jaw from the corner of his mouth, oozing quickly down his pink neck towards the collar of his _LIKES BOYS_ t-shirt.

Sam didn't think at all. He let go of the assist handle and swiped at Kurt's neck with heavy, inarticulate fingers; his arm was shaking like he'd just lifted weights for way too long. There was no way he was going to mess up his Dom's clothes. Unthinkable. Unpardonable.

His fingers caught a copious gob, which clung between his knuckles as he tried to gather it up.

Even though he could have just wiped them off on his shirt, he didn't even think of that. He jammed three fingers into his mouth and sucked hard to get them clean, staring at Kurt's jaw, where there was still the wet smeary track that thick little wad had left behind. He went back for it the instant he could, acting on pure instinct.

"Mmh," Kurt sighed, staring at him hazily and tilting his head to allow Sam to clean him off. Sam wiped at the shiny trail desperately, thinking maybe he'd lean forward to just lick Kurt completely clean from the throat up.

But then Kurt let Sam's dick go, still wet with spit and twitching stupidly like his body never intended to stop now that it been allowed to start, and reached up and nudged at Sam's lower lip with his thumb, pushing a wet-feeling smear into his mouth. Sam knew that in trying to help Kurt, he'd probably just made a mess of himself, shoving sloppy jizzed-up fingers between his lips, but he was more than happy to suck Kurt's thumb. His heart soared in his chest at the feeling that he could still be obedient.

He lifted his eyelids to look to Kurt in abject admiration and gratitude for allowing him to not only come, but to help clean it up. Kurt met his eyes, arched a brow, and stuck his tongue out.

Sam let out a dazed puff through his nose, Kurt's thumb still in his mouth.

That clever tongue was sloppy with come, visibly clinging over it in a shining, cloudy-white film. Sam had just enough time to register what it was and that Kurt hadn't swallowed it before the tongue slipped from sight coyly and he was left dumbfounded.

And after a beat, Kurt shifted his hand, clutching Sam's jaw to tilt him, and kissed him on the lips.

Sam immediately succumbed without thought; he was confused about why Kurt hadn't spit or swallowed or anything, and could feel his gut attempting to twist weakly. His lips were big, but he eased them up against Kurt's carefully.

But instead of a smooch, Kurt had other plans. He opened up Sam's mouth with his own and gave him a hot dart of his tongue, pushing bitter flavor into his mouth.

Sam wasn't taken aback. Not at the taste, anyway. It was his own, and therefore familiar. But beyond it was the heat of Kurt's mouth and the softness of his tongue, the taste of his mouth, new and bright to his taste buds. He felt himself blinking, everything a meaningless blur in comparison to the wet contact that was so sharply real, as he automatically lapped back, taking even more of his own jizz into his mouth.

As weird as it was, some part of Sam automatically understood that Kurt was making him take his own load, and he just took it, reflexively, stupefied beyond thought and acting on instinct. He got it. He was the sub, here – he was the one whose mouth should be full of come. Last night, it had definitely been. He heard Kurt let out a soft hum and tilted his head submissively, keeping his mouth open, hoping Kurt would understand that he could do whatever he wanted; Sam would do whatever he wanted, take anything Kurt wanted to give him. The warm clash of Kurt's tongue against his even felt good, as thickly sloppy as they were with mingled spit and jizz.

Without warning, Kurt broke from him with a wet noise, and Sam closed his mouth with a pinch. He waited a second, not sure if he should swallow what was sitting on his tongue. It wasn't much, but nothing would feel like much after holding Kurt's entire load in his mouth for a whole minute last night, he thought, if not longer. He'd struggled against his impulse to down his Dom's come neatly, fighting the rather demanding reflex every second so he could be good. Kurt had really made him taste it, feel it so slick and warm, sliding under his tongue and clinging to the roof of his mouth. He'd made Sam show it to him, and made him feel so good and obedient to have it in his mouth.

Remembering that, Sam opened his mouth so Kurt could see, if he wanted, that Sam could do it again. Spunk slid over his tongue, slippery and heavy, and he pushed the small amount forward, feeling it stick to his lower lip.

"Hmm," Kurt growled in response, leaning back in and over Sam. He pushed himself up onto one knee, shoulder warm and solid against Sam's, and bent in to seal their mouths together again, hand pulling Sam's face up.

Sam felt another useless, almost painful tug of arousal, meeting Kurt's mouth obediently and waiting for more. Now that he understood so plainly what Kurt was doing and felt like there was a good chance he knew what would please Kurt, he wanted to keep going; he knew he could do it.

He was rewarded with a gentle push, warm jizz flooding his mouth and Kurt's tongue flicking at his, beyond smooth. He grunted pleadingly, trying to get more off Kurt's tongue, and Kurt exhaled, breath gusting hot and rough on Sam's cheek. His tongue slipped away, shy, then dipped back in after a beat, nudging Sam's but reluctant to stay for long enough for Sam to do anything but enthusiastically meet it for a hot second and come away with more of his own load, thrilled half to death. He pushed come into Sam's mouth gradually, and swooped after it like he was going to take it back, but didn't; like he was going to rub his tongue against Sam's for more than a flash –

Kurt was teasing him, Sam realized, and flat-out groaned. His Dom obviously wanted to drive him crazy. And he could do it, too. 

His response made Kurt sever them again, panting for a few moments before he swallowed audibly. Sam realized he probably still had jizz in the back of his mouth, even though he'd passed a good amount to Sam.

"Show it to me," Kurt commanded breathlessly.

Eagerly, Sam rolled his tongue around in his mouth, trying to get the wet load all over it before obediently opening his mouth for Kurt.

Kurt exhaled, the air catching in his throat and pulling out a gentle whimpery noise.

"Perfect," he whispered, and abruptly straddled Sam's lap, smooth and easy. Sam's thighs were splayed widely. He could have fit one of his siblings on each of them. He closed his mouth again and pulled his legs together so Kurt could settle on him, feeling like steam was shooting out his ears as Kurt put willowy but solid weight on him, leaning right up against his chest, and pulled heat through him in a massive wave. "You shot off so much, Sam. I couldn't keep up."

"Mmh," Sam grunted.

"Mm, good boy. Your mouth's full of come again." Kurt waited a few seconds before adding, "Swallow it."

Eyes closing momentarily, Sam gulped down the wad.

"Still like to swallow for me?" Kurt asked him, low and flirty.

He nodded, and Kurt eyed him, hands sliding over Sam's shoulders. He was leaning in tight to Sam from pelvis to pecs, the two of them hardly fitting on the seat with the ceiling of the car curving low. Even though the layers of their jeans were awkward, they were pressed so close, Sam could feel Kurt hard against his hip. Kurt's body curved against Sam's, fitting in a way that had Sam touching his sides with careful hands, awed at how sexy he felt. Kurt let out a pleased sigh that sounded like a purr.

"I've never had a guy's come in my mouth before," he said. "Or a guy's dick. Or a guy's tongue."

Sam could feel his eyes focus and widen seriously. That other stuff, he could understand. But Kurt had never frenched before? His first time swapping spit, and it wasn't spit, but Sam's come?

"Was it okay?" he found himself asking.

This made Kurt chuckle softly, his mouth pulling in a teasing smile. "Mm-hm. Was it okay for you?"

Again, Sam nodded. He had to admit, it had felt good to be in Kurt's mouth. And he hadn't made out with anybody since Santana and was actually staggered by how much he missed it, even if he apparently wasn't very good at it. It just felt so good. But now that he actually was considering it, he realized that Kurt hadn't really even kissed him so much as used his tongue to pass him come; the catches of tongue Sam had gotten were all because he'd licked for it, wanting to get more and feel Kurt's tongue and taste everything.

"I liked it," he added in a slow whisper, a bit embarrassed at what an awkward kisser Kurt probably thought he was.

"You liked it?" Kurt repeated. He sounded doubtful, but he was smiling.

"Yeah."

"Because if it wasn't something you liked, I don't have to ever do it again..."

"Please," Sam groaned pathetically.

"Mm? Please what?"

"Gimme another chance –"

There came a tap at the window, and Kurt and Sam both turned their heads with a jerk to see someone standing by the door. The someone was wearing a gray sweater over a white t-shirt with tall black lettering mostly hidden under the zip.

"Oh my God," Kurt muttered, and fumbled for the door handle. Sam grabbed around Kurt's thighs awkwardly. His fly was still open, and his dick out; it mostly soft now but still sort of stupidly insistent that it couldn't be totally soft, whether it was just because he had been hard all day or because he couldn't help but feel an interest in Kurt on top of him, making Sam take his own load and everything. He didn't even have room to feel worry about that, though. He felt really safe, actually, with Kurt's weight on him.

Kurt opened the door a good crack, still perched on Sam's lap.

"Mr. Schue," he said, falsely pleasant.

"He-e-ey, guys," said. Mr. Schue with an awkward grin, lifting his hand in a wave. Sam stared at his butt chin rather than look at him in the eye, disconnected except for some vague annoyance. "What's up?"

"I'm giving Sam a ride home," said Kurt. Sam didn't know how he could be so cool and collected, but he was grateful Kurt had the ability to sound normal.

"Really? Ha ha." Mr. Schue laughed slowly. "I guess I can see that. Um, you might want to go ahead and get him home, then. I'm not trying to cast aspersions, but it looks like what you're up to might qualify as inappropriate."

"We're just making out," Kurt claimed, sounding defensive. Sam felt his blank stare shift guiltily to the side. Maybe it was incredibly obvious that Kurt was in the middle of domming him. Maybe it was clear he'd just submitted to swallowing his own come. He licked his lips slowly while Kurt said, "Straight kids do it all the time!"

"I believe you! But, um, Kurt, you are on top of Sam, so it looks like something a little more serious than making out, even if it's not. I mean, not all teachers are as cool as me... and there are plenty of them still here at school, not to mention Principal Figgins. And you don't have tinted windows, so. You're not in private."

"Fine. We'll just be on our way, then."

"I'm just looking out for you guys. I'd tell Mike and Tina the same thing if I saw them in your position," said Mr. Schue, sensing that he'd offended Kurt. "The last thing we want is for anyone to get suspended right before Nationals. You okay, Sam?"

"Wha'? Uh – yeah. Totally," Sam managed.

"Okay. You had your head down the whole last half of Spanish, and frankly, you looked kind of woozy during our big number, so I was hoping you weren't coming down with something. Especially if you're kissing Kurt. Germs, fellas. Don't forget, quiz tomorrow. Use your flash cards!"

"'Kay."

"See ya tomorrow," said Kurt, capably ending the exchange.

"Hasta mañana," said Mr. Schuester, giving the roof of Kurt's car a couple of friendly pats and moving on, probably feeling like he'd changed their world with his wisdom or something.

Letting out a sigh, Kurt pulled the door shut again and repeated, "Oh my God. Sorry about that. If I hadn't climbed on you, he probably wouldn't have noticed us."

"If you hadn't, he would have seen my junk," said Sam.

"Oh!" Kurt let out a startled chuckle. "My goodness, you're right. Let me fix that for you."

He reached between them for Sam's dick to tuck it back into his strap, Sam hoping Mr. Schue wouldn't double back to talk to them about arts funding or dance steps and yet excited that a teacher had seen his Dom so all over him. It didn't really make any sense to feel that way, since basically they'd just gotten busted and could have easily actually gotten into trouble if Mr. Schue wasn't so, uh, totally awesome. He didn't want Mr. Schue to come back, or for Figgins to catch them or anything. He just really felt like Kurt's sub. His own words came back to him over and over: _More than ever._

"Is it just me or did Mr. Schue insinuate I was riding you?" Kurt asked.

 

*

 

At the motel, Stevie and Stacey were out in the parking lot, riding their bikes around in circles. His mom was sitting on the porch keeping an eye on them, and stood when Kurt pulled in to give him a friendly wave. Stacey pedaled over, too, when she saw Sam in the front seat.

"Hi, Sammy! Hi, Kurt," she cried through the window.

"Hi, Stacey!" Kurt said, punching Sam in the arm excitedly.

After thanking Kurt for the ride, tugging his backpack and hoodie out of the trunk, and making sure Stacey was well out of traffic's way, Sam headed for his happy place for a much-needed twenty minutes or so of utter floating.

He was waylaid on the porch by his mom, who had a couple of questions about the t-shirts he and Kurt were wearing, about whether Kurt would be taking Sam home more often or coming in to tuck Sam in, and what that was all about, anyway.

Maybe Kurt was actually right about all that being bewildering, or whatever. Sam hadn't even thought about it, but he'd been so subbed out, he'd just gratefully deferred to Kurt's offer to take him home, even though he'd always insisted on taking the bus before.

"It's nothing weird," said Sam. Although, maybe it was. "He just talks to me, focuses me. Helps me sleep."

"I see... Sam, I think Kurt is a sweet kid, and I can tell he's very enthusiastic to be your Dom –"

"But you don't want him here?"

"No, I don't mind if he comes over," she said, crossing her arms. "We may not have much space or anything to offer guests in the way of amenities, but you're still welcome to have company. Kurt, Quinn... whoever. But I think it'd be nice if you notified us in the future. If you have a friend over, I don't want to be hanging around in a mumu with my hair in curlers, trying to get Stacey to sleep."

"You don't have a mumu and curlers," Sam said, but he knew what she meant. Privacy was so skint already, and personal space non-existent. None of them needed to feel like what little stability they did have could be taken from them, just like their home. "Sorry, Mom. I'm really sorry. I wasn't thinking about you guys, and that was rude. I was just really happy he said he'd come tuck me in. I'll call next time and make sure it's okay."

"That's all I ask." She patted him on the shoulders, happily ignorant of the fact that Kurt's hands had been sliding over them in a way Sam could only remember as super sexy. "You were happy, weren't you. You had on such a space-face."

"Space-face?" repeated Sam. "What, did I look stupid?"

"No! You looked just like you did when you were six and seven and I'd read you those _Harry Potter_ books before bed. You'd lie so still, with your eyes wide open. It was so unlike you, Mr. Fidget. You were just as bad as Stacey is now. We had to train you with Goldfish to stay at your desk instead of wandering all over the classroom. I used to catch you up out of bed, playing with Legos or that old erector set, butt naked. Remember that? I couldn't keep you tucked in for the life of me. Now you've got your driver's license and a job and a Dom and you're just about to turn seventeen, and suddenly you're getting tucked in by this guy..."

Her voice trailed off, throaty, and Sam saw a suspicious glimmer in her eyes.

"If you tear up, I'll tear up!" he protested.

"I'm not!" she said quickly, even though she totally was.

"I'd still play with Legos naked if I thought I could get away with it," Sam told her, smiling crookedly. "But teenagers need, like, a million hours of sleep."

His mom smiled back, understanding. "You want your after-school cat nap, don't you."

Sam knew his mom had no idea how bad Sam actually needed the chance to crash; he'd had a pretty overwhelming day. He just nodded, though.

"Go enjoy some peace and quiet, honey," she said. "And put a different shirt on. Between the giant letters and those cuffs, it looks like you're advertising for something. I don't want pervs on the highway pulling over."

 

*

 

Later that night, after an extra-long, heavy fog-out session, forcing down a couple of chapters of _The Catcher in the Rye_ , and a few hours driving hot pizzas around Lima, Sam went on break and climbed into his family's van, dialing Kurt.

He always looked forward to checking in with Kurt. Before Kurt had collared him, their phone calls were always when his Dom said the most to him, asked him questions and teased him a little and made him feel the most submissive. Now that he was collared, they were even better.

"Hi, beautiful!" Kurt cooed when he picked up.

"Hey! I'm on my break," said Sam, lighting up inside.

"Ooh, you're mine for fifteen whole minutes, then! So how's work tonight?"

"Okay. I made another run out to Dalton."

"Oh, really? The Warblers again?"

"Guess so."

"Did you see Blaine?"

"Nah. I think the guys with the credit card are, like, seniors, so I just saw them. I don't get why they keep ordering from Nice Slice. Don't they have pizza in the Westerville area?"

"They might have pizza, but they don't have delivery boys near as hot as you."

"I don't think they're all gay, though," said Sam. "But they do seem to have a lot of rehearsals or whatever when I work."

"Well, Blaine probably has a pretty firm sense of your schedule, since I'm friends with him," said Kurt. "Maybe he asks for you, or something. How's it been, besides driving out there to that fancy-pants school?"

"Fine. Just boring. Uh, I heard 'Addicted to Love' on the radio on my last delivery! Now it's stuck in my head."

"Ah, a classic with a music video that still speaks to aspiring fashionistas today. Do you know, it's always struck me as having incredibly subby lyrics," remarked Kurt.

Sam knew the tune pretty well, but without the song playing, he could only remember a bit, and it was the bit stuck in his head: _Your lights are on, but you're not home; your will is not your own._ Something about sweating and grinding? It sounded pretty on the mark.

"I can see what you mean," he said. "But it's from a Dom's perspective."

"'Another kiss and you'll be _mine_ ,'" Kurt sang, his sweet voice picking up a bit of a growl. Sam thought it was effective, but Kurt hurried on. "But anyway! Did you have a good dinner?"

"Just soup. I'm gonna eat the rest of the chips you made me," Sam admitted, reaching for his backpack. "I've been saving them for my break. Sorry if I crunch."

"You're pardoned. I'll talk for a bit while you crunch, how 'bout that?"

"Mm!"

"I'm so annoyed with Mr. Schue," was what Kurt had to say. "I've been thinking about him interrupting us. 'Born This Way' is an ode to self-truth and honesty, and I, more than most people, appreciate the sentiment behind this week's lesson."

Privately, Sam agreed. Rachel's nose might have been the inspiration for the performance, but Kurt had been the centerpiece. He'd owned that number.

"And you know I worship the Gaga," he continued. "But I can't get over just how much it was none of his business what I was doing with you in my own back seat. Kids kiss all the time in the hall. Girls are always sitting on their boyfriends' laps. Why was he so quick to assume we were being inappropriate? 'Cause we're guys? He would stop Mike and Tina, my ass. Sure, if they were making out during glee, he would. But if he saw them swapping spit in Mike's back seat, do you really think he'd go out of his way to warn them they should stop being inappropriate? Fat chance. He'd probably just go on home. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that he, like so many others at this school, just isn't as cool with PDA between two guys."

"Maybe people just need to get used to it," Sam offered mid-chew. He was not going to point out the fact that they were actually being inappropriate. He didn't want to jeopardize any future inappropriateness, even knowing they might get in trouble.

"They do!" fumed Kurt.

"Maybe you should sit on my lap during glee," he suggested, before he sort of thought better of it. "Um, or the other way around! Or not at all. I was just saying. Whatever you want is good."

He shut himself up by cramming a chip into his mouth.

"Well, I am a bit lighter than you," said Kurt, amused. "The idea of you sitting on my lap is kind of funny and cute, though."

"I don't wanna crush you," Sam said, nervously talking with his mouth full.

"Please. I'm pretty sure I wear a size above you in jeans."

"No way," mumbled Sam. Should he reassure Kurt he wasn't fat, or something?

"Well, either way, you still like it when I'm on top of you, don't you, cutie?"

"Yeah," he said, relishing the relative privacy of being alone in his van. It was much better than sitting outside of his family's room, trying to keep quiet so they wouldn't hear or so he wouldn't bother the neighbors. "Actually... I kinda like it even more 'cause you're not as light as a girl."

"Really," Kurt said. Sam wasn't sure how to read his tone of voice. "Hm! Well, I'm just getting to know you more and more. Another interesting thing I found out today is just how much you really do like jock straps. You weren't kidding about that, huh?"

"No! I mean, I do, but –"

Sam hesitated, poking at the corner of his mouth with the point of one wheat chip. He couldn't really deny it, but he had liked wearing the one he was still sporting under his jeans even more than he'd liked the casual way he and all his buddies at boarding school had worn them. At Brookside, it had made him feel like part of the team, and he missed that feeling enough to find where he could get it at McKinley – with Finn and Mike and Puck and Artie in glee, rather than the football team. Once he'd just accepted that he had submissive reactions, he had also realized that he reacted to some other stuff on a weird level he'd virtually ignored before then. It had receded into a non-issue when his family moved and he started fresh at McKinley and there were hot Cheerios walking around the halls in skirts that barely covered their butts. But anyway, he'd been almost crazily oversensitive all day.

"I'm not normally that bad," he finished, lame.

"I bet not," said his Dom. "But I got you all worked up last night, and it made you have an exceptionally subby day."

Blinking repeatedly, Sam bit off the tiny point of his chip. That was true. Everything else had just been white noise in comparison to everything he was feeling and to his constant thoughts about Kurt, or the strap, or the way his ass felt, or behaving himself. He probably hadn't been so distracted since the first day he'd worn his cuffs at school.

"It's okay, Sam," Kurt said. "You know that, right?"

"Yes," Sam said. He did logically know how forgiving Kurt was, and that if his behavior hadn't been permissible, Kurt would have warned him or corrected him and helped put him on a track towards behaving better. He was just kinda embarrassed. He put away his chip noisily.

"How's your bottom? Have you been uncomfortable?"

"No, it's... fine," said Sam.

"Yeah? It doesn't feel weird, or anything?"

"No. I mean, I can... feel it, kinda. Still. I probably won't even feel it anymore tomorrow."

"You can feel it right now?"

"Yes," Sam said. He'd sort of gotten used to the feeling, but with Kurt making him pay attention to it, he shifted in his seat, the box of chips on his lap.

"I bet you're still wearing that jock strap, too."

"Yeah," he admitted.

"How would you say your day was?"

"Good. But... blurry," said Sam. "I tried to concentrate and do work. I did do some work. I'm pretty sure. I did it, like, on autopilot. But I felt good. Like, I did what you told me, so I felt really..."

"Was it good, being so obedient?"

"Good – but – like, deeper – like... I can't find a way to say it out loud. More than good. But 'awesome' isn't right either... it doesn't come any closer. All those words that mean 'good' just don't fit right. Like, it was good, but it was kinda hard, too..."

"It wasn't too hard, was it?"

"No!" Sam said quickly. "Not at all. I mean. It's a lot, but I can take it!"

"Subspace is difficult to define, or so I've read," said Kurt.

Sam guessed so.

"It seems like it varies a lot," Kurt continued, when Sam didn't say anything more. "From person to person, and between guys and girls. And it can be different every time it happens, too, and last for different lengths of time. And for some subs, they never really go into what people consider subspace. But I think you do. What do you think?"

"No idea," Sam answered, puzzled.

"No? Do you know what I'm talking about?"

Sam looked at the meters set into the dashboard behind the steering wheel, not really taking in any real details or noting the information they offered, but seeing them and their shapes because they were in front of him.

"Not sure," he said, although he wondered if Kurt was talking about him being in sub heaven, and he couldn't help but think of his mom calling him space-face.

"Well, bear with me, here, because my understanding of this has been gleaned from romanticized movies, chirpy pamphlets, disturbing websites, and just watching you – which is my fave. You know how you said your day was blurry? When I'm domming you, sometimes you seem to go somewhere... I mean, you're still with me, focused on me, obeying me, and I can feel that you're with me, but it's on another level than, say, this conversation. It feels a lot different when you're that subbed out. Sometimes it's like you're sedated, or I'm your hypnotist and I have you deep under my command. Maybe to you it feels like you're high, or floating. Is that... kind of right? Does it seem familiar to you?"

"Um. ...Yeah," Sam said under his breath, biting into a chip.

"Did you feel like that today?"

"Yeah," Sam repeated obediently. It felt a little naked and scary in some way, for Kurt to be able to actually put words to something Sam couldn't have described. Sam never would have been able to start.

"Did you feel like that last night?"

"Yeah."

"That's what I thought. I didn't know for sure," Kurt told him. "But I took you there on purpose today. Twice. You were practically there already. You might have gone there even if I hadn't given you a nudge. You've spaced out like that before."

"This is kinda freaking me out," Sam whispered.

"Oh, honey," Kurt responded in a sympathetic tone. "Why?"

"Dunno," he managed.

"We don't need to talk about it right now, if it's making you uncomfortable. You are at work, and you've had quite a day already."

Sam dropped his half-eaten chip back into the tupperware box.

"Did I overwhelm you just now?" Kurt wondered.

"I dunno," Sam mumbled.

"Aw, Sam. I did, didn't I. I'm sorry, sweetie. Like I said, it's okay to have limits. Everyone has them. And it's good for me to know your limits. You can tell me when you get uncomfortable. It helps me be a good Dom for you, and I want to be the best Dom I can be."

Sam struggled to swallow against a throat drawn tight.

"It's not, like, a limit," he wheezed. "I'm not, like... backed up against a wall. Just embarrassed, or... something. I'm like that all the time – but I didn't – I don't know. It's wrong of me to be like that all the time –"

"No, it's okay," Kurt told him gently, easing him out of the babble loop he'd gotten stuck in. "I like it when you're just being yourself, however you feel, subby or not. If you feel subby a lot, that's perfectly okay."

"Sometimes I'm like that when you're not with me, though," Sam said weakly.

"That's okay, Sam! That's okay. Take a nice, deep breath for me."

Despite the knot of unexpected anxiety in his throat, Sam obediently sucked in a breath and let it out in a huge sigh, expelling tension forcefully.

"That's good," Kurt said, his voice soothing. "It's okay if you're having subby feelings when I'm not with you, or thinking subby thoughts at any given time. It's not wrong. It's a part of being a submissive. And it's extremely intriguing to me, actually. I want to know more. But I bet it's a pain to have me prying all the time. I know I ask you so many questions."

"Everything you said was just really right," Sam said, pushing himself to be honest even though he felt so naked anyway. "It kinda wigged me to hear you say it. Like you can see inside my head. I dunno. You always ask how I feel and I always tell you. And you see me in a way no one else ever has. I'm not scared that you do, but it's still... I don't expect it. I don't know why I'm embarrassed. Like, I mean... I trust you."

"It's intense for me, too," Kurt told him slowly. "I don't know if this is really a thing, but I have kind of a Dom space – a Dom mode, at least, even if it's not the exact same kind of thing you experience. It's like a groove I get into where it's totally second nature for me to come on strong and want to – oh, do totally inappropriate things with you at totally inappropriate times. Drag you somewhere private and watch you squirm. Tie your hands behind your back. I almost never second-guess myself when I'm in the groove. It can be hard to keep in check, because it feels so good to dom the ever-living bejesus out of you. I just never want to stop playing with you. God, I was so pissed off at Mr. Schue for interrupting me!"

Again, Sam gulped, but the nerves in him seemed to shift at once into that weird sense of arousal that made him feel like he was really overstimulated, mixed up and feeling everything all at once. He wished Kurt was there; he would curl over and bury his face in Kurt's lap and let himself burn up with desire.

"I don't even know how much more you could have stood, anyway, so maybe it was for the best. Uh, but... sometimes, after I've had certain thoughts or done certain things or certain Spanish teachers bite my groove, I do come up for air and I can feel weird, I guess. Sometimes I wonder about what I did or said. If I had somebody asking me questions about what I was thinking when I was in that zone, I'd probably feel kinda wigged, too."

"What about me?" Sam asked. "Would I wig you out if I asked you questions?"

"Well, maybe. But only because I want you to think I'm perfect, even though it's obvious I'm ridiculously inexperienced."

"Experience doesn't matter to me, like, at all," said Sam, not missing the self-deprecating tone of his Dom's voice. This was his chance, though. "Can I ask you a question before I get back to work, then?"

"Oh, damn. It is about that time. Sure, you can ask me whatever you want! I like your questions."

"Okay. Well, still, please don't get wigged out. Have you really never frenched anyone before?"

After a pause, Kurt said, "I have. But not a boy."

"You frenched a girl?" Sam said, astounded. It was such a foreign concept, that Kurt would ever be that way with a girl. Immediately, he asked, "Was it Rachel?"

"Rachel??" Kurt asked, sounding just as incredulous. "Rachel _Berry_? No!"

"Sorry! It's just that you guys are friends!"

"So are me and Mercedes!"

"Was it Mercedes?"

"Oh my God. Sometimes I forget how much you missed, not being here last year."

"...It was Mercedes."

"No, angel face, it wasn't Mercedes," said Kurt, amused. "It was Brittany."

"Oh," said Sam, his slight prickle of jealousy fading. Everybody had made out with Brittany. "That's okay, then."

"Is it."

"Yeah. I'm not, like, threatened by her."

"Are you saying you'd be threatened if I'd sucked face with Rachel or Mercedes?"

"Rachel, no," said Sam frankly. "Mercedes, a little. Sorry, Kurt, I have to go. My manager's, like, standing in the window pointing at his watch."

"Well! Have a great rest of your shift, cutie. I hope they play some more classics for you on the radio. And I'm sorry I embarrassed you. I didn't mean to."

"It's cool," Sam said. He felt dumb about his weird reactions to everything, and he didn't want it to be a big deal. "Sleep tight and stuff."

"I will. Night, Sam."

"Night, Kurt."

 

*

The next day, Sam wore boxer briefs. Kurt hadn't told him to wear anything in particular.

Similarly, Kurt didn't give him a jock check; he just walked Sam to his locker, smiled mysteriously, and told him he'd see him at lunch.

Sam had spent his bedtime sub-out sleepily wondering if he still would have had a blurry day if Kurt hadn't told him to wear a jock strap. Maybe he would have. Maybe he would have worn one anyway, even if Kurt didn't tell him to, and maybe it would have been just as boner-inducing... but he didn't know if that was even possible, because Kurt wouldn't have given him that insane jock check. Kurt wouldn't have spanked him with his book. Kurt wouldn't have used his hand like he had.

He didn't know what had made Kurt up and spank him in the first place. It wasn't because Sam had done anything wrong; he got that. And he understood what Kurt had said about being in a zone. It happened to athletes and artists, and it definitely happened to him. It was that perfect combination of focus and energy, that out-of-body involuntary magic. He could see it happening to a Dom.

But Kurt had never been Dommy like he'd been yesterday, teasing Sam at every turn and playing with him all day – and making him sub out on purpose, if Sam had understood him right, until Sam had pretty much begged for mercy.

Now Sam wasn't sure how he'd ever again wear a jock without spontaneously creaming it.

On his way down to the cafeteria, he spotted Brittany at her locker, talking to Mercedes. Wow, he had a hard time imagining Kurt making out with Brittany. She was really hot (and he knew from that game of spin-the-bottle that she was a good kisser), but he had a hard time imagining Kurt making out with anybody. Despite what Kurt had told Mr. Schue, they hadn't really been making out in the back seat. After months of doing nothing but make out with Quinn, and then Santana, Sam knew his way around a make-out session. His curiosity was super piqued, now.

But all the things Santana had said about his lips haunted him. And she wasn't the only one who had something to say about his ginormo, bloated, fishy, smothering glory hole of a mouth. Quinn, Puck, Zizes, Stoner Brett, Coach Sylvester, guys on the team, guys back at Brookside, his dentist; they'd all felt the need to comment on the size of his mouth, how wide he could open up or how weird his lips looked.

It was a good thing he had a big mouth, though, he told himself. Those Brookside guys were right, after all. As soon as Kurt would let him, he would use his blow job lips to please. The thought put a warm pit in his chest.

At lunch, Kurt stood with his tray and peered around the cafeteria for Mercedes. Even though Sam had just seen her in the hall, she wasn't anywhere in line and they couldn't see her at any table, so they took their seats with Mike and Tina, as usual.

Upon seeing Mike, Sam realized he'd totally forgotten about prom tickets and bringing the issue to his parents. Next week, they'd be up to seventy bucks each...

But now that he wasn't in a perpetual dream haze or completely preoccupied with his hiding his wood, Sam could see how unrealistic he'd been, thinking about trying to get tickets and a corsage, or whatever, and dinner. Even if he only paid for one person, he couldn't afford all that. Paying for two would be almost his entire paycheck, and he was still covering the cost of his family's stay at the motel. It just wasn't feasible. He swallowed with some difficulty, forcing himself to let the idea of prom go.

"Guess what," Tina breathed.

"You bought your prom dress!" Kurt exclaimed, making Sam worry the corner of his mouth with his canines.

"No! I'm going to be on _Fondue For Two_."

"Brittany's show about feeding cheese to her morbidly obese cat? Internet fame is surely just around the corner," said Kurt sardonically.

"The internet loves cats of all shapes and sizes, Kurt," snapped Tina. "And it won't just be ten minutes of Brittany talking to her cat. We're going to be special guests there to weigh in on all the issues."

"You and the cat?"

"Me and Mercedes."

"Oh! Well, when you see her, tell her I say hi and I miss her and to please stop avoiding me and ignoring my texts. Just because Rachel and I have buried the hatchet and I now have a sub whereas she remains subless, it doesn't mean she and I won't still have plenty of shared pain. Tell her that, won't you?" Meanwhile, Kurt had been opening up a rather large container of rice pudding, which he placed in front of Sam. "This is dairy-free. And I made way too much, so don't feel like you have to eat it all."

The pudding smelled sweet and was absolutely lousy with cinnamon and raisins, so along with his own small lunch, Sam wolfed it down. He'd hardly eaten anything the previous day.

During study hall, Sam read _Catcher_. Kurt gave him such a thorough looking-at that he did get kinda stiff in his jeans, but compared to yesterday, it wasn't too bad, and he played it cool even though he was pink with pleasure, reading the book in front of his Dom.

Though he probably would have remained totally ignorant about it before their conversation last night, he noticed Kurt seemed to have stepped out of that Dom mode he'd been talking about. He was being really casual – sitting with him, but not pushing him or leading him or instructing him. He wasn't up in Sam's space. It felt more like the days after Kurt had taken him into consideration but hadn't collared him, and just wanted him to do homework but made no other real demands, and Sam had no idea what to do, so he simply waited for instructions and made mental notes of small things like the kind of pen Kurt was using and what Rihanna song he was buying off iTunes and what weird thing he was wearing. Today, Kurt was wearing a crisp black button-down and vest, on which was perched a pewter brooch thing: a detailed and scary-looking bat with glittering eyes. He had a clicky pen with purple ink.

When they parted before Spanish, Kurt simply caressed his cheek, smiling, and walked off without a word, leaving Sam to watch him strut down the hall. He felt weird and almost bummed for a minute, watching his Dom leave him. He knew it would be bad to have extra subby days all the time and to be wandering around in a fog, bare-assed under his jeans and secretly waiting to be inspected, but it didn't keep him from feeling an acute pang of longing. Sam wondered if maybe Kurt was giving him a chance to concentrate more on school. That meant he should try his best to pay attention and do his work. Maybe if he earned a good grade, he could show Kurt.

Right outside of Mr. Schue's classroom, Mike caught him and told him, "I talked to Tina. She said Kurt's been shopping for something he could wear to prom, but hasn't bought anything or said he's going. He said he was looking 'just in case.'"

"Thanks, dude," said Sam, his mood taking another dip. "But I don't think I can actually go."

"That sucks."

"Appreciate it, though," said Sam, and offered Mike a fist bump. Mike took it, smiling sympathetically at Sam, and headed off.

Afterwards, on his way to the last class of the day, Sam spotted Mercedes. He went right up to her without any extra thought.

"Hey, Mercedes!"

"Hey, Sam," said Mercedes, more interested on the contents of her locker.

"Hey, so, Kurt thinks you're mad at him and don't want to be his friend anymore," Sam said.

"Well, Kurt is a drama queen," she said with a roll of her eyes. "No offense, but I doubt he really cares."

"Why wouldn't he care?"

"Look, you don't get it. You're in the shining spotlight of his attentions right now, so. Just enjoy it while it lasts."

"Please don't say that," Sam managed. "I know I'm not worthy of all the attention."

Something made Mercedes finally look at him, and when she saw his face, she sighed. "Sorry. That was petty of me, and petty ain't pretty. I wasn't trying to diss you or say you aren't worthy. You're a nice guy – I'm sure you're plenty worthy. But that spotlight isn't big enough for the two of us. I don't think Kurt has room for me in his life anymore."

"He totally does!" said Sam.

"You think that because he makes all the time in the world for you. And Blaine. And Rachel, all of a sudden. Even Quinn! I thought he hated her after all that drama, but now they're hanging out, putting up prom posters and junk."

"He's trying to be nice to Quinn 'cause I still see her all the time, like in church, and she baby-sits for my little brother and sister. But he really wants you to answer his texts and said he wants to share pain with you and stuff," Sam pressed. "He wanted to sit with you at lunch but we couldn't find you anywhere in the cafeteria."

"I've been sitting with Artie and Brittany out in the courtyard," Mercedes said softly, closing her locker. "They're the only couple in glee club that don't make me feel like a third wheel. Maybe 'cause there's already a bunch of wheels..."

"Well, um. I can't make you talk to Kurt, or anything." Something probably totally brilliant came upon Sam, and he found himself going off the cuff. "But my birthday's coming up, and I was hoping maybe you'd come hang out with us this weekend to celebrate it. It's just me and Kurt and, um, Quinn, and maybe my little brother and sister. No presents or cake or anything. Just, like, maybe we could see a movie or go bowling or go to Color Me Mine or something. I know that's not really cool, but it'd be a lot more fun if you were there. If you have plans Saturday, we could do it Sunday. What do you say?"

Mercedes was looking at him funny, but she had a genuine smile on her face, too.

"Bowling?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"I'm down. Saturday's fine. What time?"

"Like, two, I think?" said Sam, choosing randomly. He dug into his backpack's front pocket for his cell, which was off. He didn't really use it at school. Everyone else had iPhones, and his cheap disposable phone was both cheap and disposable. He flipped it open anyway. "Here, give me your number so I can call you if the time changes."

"I'll just write it down," she said, taking a pen to her notebook and doing so quickly. She tore the number out for him. "Here."

"Awesome, thanks," Sam said gratefully. He saw the numbers were in purple ink, just like Kurt had been writing with. "I'm stoked you'll come."

"Lucky for you, I love bowling," she said. "I gotta get to biology, Sam. See ya in glee."

"See ya!" said Sam, and pumped his fist once Mercedes' back was turned.

Maybe he couldn't take Kurt to prom, but he could give Kurt time with Mercedes, and that would help their friendship get back to normal. That was important. That would make Kurt happy. And it might make Mercedes happy, too. He knew how it was to want someone's attention – especially Kurt's. It was super addictive.

He hustled, too, humming "Addicted to Love" under his breath.

 

*

 

"Bowling?"

Sam couldn't tell if Quinn was interested or skeptical; she was doing that squinty thing.

"Yeah. Saturday. Just Kurt, Mercedes, and you. And me. And I kinda want to bring Stevie and Stacey, if they promise to be good. They'd be so bummed if they knew I'd gone bowling with you and didn't bring them."

"And Kurt's okay with you inviting me?"

"Yeah. He told me I can be friends with whoever I want," said Sam, glancing at something that momentarily distracted him. It was Jacob Ben Israel, he thought, by the rainbow striped sweater and puffy hair, but he booked it around the corner in a flash of fro and Dockers.

"So we are friends," she said, breaking into a smile.

"Of course," Sam replied.

Actually, he'd sort of been reluctant to be friendly with Quinn like this. It was like some sliver of his heart would always belong to her, even if he didn't want it to, and therefore she would always wield power over him. It felt like a betrayal to Kurt to have any leftover feelings, even though Kurt had said it was okay, and it felt like a betrayal to Quinn to not want to go out of his way to please her. The other day, he'd called to assure her that he'd taken down a bunch of those Lucy Caboosey posters and that he'd take down all the ones he saw, but she'd been so upset at the time that she'd told him it was pointless and not to pity her. He'd had to tell himself not to take her response personally. She wasn't his Domme anymore and it wasn't his job to serve her. It still disgusted him to know that Jacob Ben Israel was creeping on her, though.

"Can I bring Finn?" she asked.

Sam frowned. He hadn't expected that, for some reason.

"Normally I wouldn't mind, but what with everything going on with my family, I don't want to invite a whole bunch of people..."

"You don't want anyone else to find out," said Quinn, stating a hard truth for him. She didn't seem like she thought it was too prideful or snobby, though. She just took out a tube of lip gloss, the slick kind that Sam knew smelled like sugary fruit punch, and dabbed some onto her lower lip.

"Mercedes doesn't know," said Sam, as it occurred to him. "So if you don't bring it up, that'd be great."

"You know I won't tell anyone your secret. Why are you inviting Mercedes, anyway?" she asked, lifting a finger to smooth out her lip gloss. "I personally adore that girl, but I didn't know you two were even friends."

"I guess we're not very good friends. We sit with the same people at lunch sometimes, but that's it. But I really want her to come 'cause she's friends with Kurt."

"Hmm, are you sure about that? Last I heard, Kurt was breaking plans left and right with Mercedes to spend time with that guy from Dalton... the short Warbler whose name sounds fake."

"Blaine."

"Right. He kept ditching Mercedes for Blaine. Then the one time she hung out with them, Kurt just ignored her the entire evening. He was so caught up in this guy that he didn't even try to involve her in the conversation. Then he told Mercedes she was substituting food for love and substituting him for a boyfriend. It really hurt her feelings," she said, glancing up at him with some ice in her eyes then looking back to her locker mirror. "And now he's got you, and he's set aside his differences with Rachel. They used to be a united front against her. Try as she might, Mercedes can't have an honest competition with Rachel and win, even though she's just as good – if not better. It bothers her. It bothers me! It bothers everyone who has ears. Can you blame her for steering clear of more insults and broken plans?"

Sam sighed heavily. He hadn't known about any of this competitive diva friendship stuff before. It seemed like it wasn't just a Quinn and Santana thing. It was kind of rich that Quinn was acting all concerned about Mercedes' hurt feelings, when she hadn't cared about hurting his. But that was just a thing Quinn did.

"I can't blame her if she's mad," he said patiently. "But hurt feelings aside, I know Kurt misses Mercedes. He said he keeps trying to text her. Maybe he's trying to make it right, or maybe he doesn't know he hurt her feelings, so he doesn't know he should apologize. I think they just need to talk it out. But anyway, I invited her already, and it'd mean a lot to me if you'd come, too, especially since Stevie and Stacey always behave for you."

"I'd be happy to come," said Quinn, with the impeccable manners his parents had always liked.

"Awesome," said Sam, relieved. "No presents or anything – I mean, you already gave me a great present, so – duh. And don't tell anyone, okay? It's not a party. I just want to hang with you guys."

Quinn rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Somehow I'll manage to keep our illicit visit to the Lima Lanes on the down low. Wanna walk to glee with me?"

"Sure," said Sam.

 

*

 

"I thought of something I want to do for my birthday," Sam said nervously. Kurt was taking him home, which he still wasn't used to.

"Ooh, tell me!" said Kurt, fastening his seat belt and smiling expectantly as he adjusted the belt so it wouldn't get into a fight with the bat brooch pinned over his heart.

"I wanna go bowling."

"Bowling!" Kurt repeated, like he was marveling at the vast wonders of the universe. "My gosh! Okay! If that's what you want, that's what you'll get!"

"There's more than that, though."

"Do you want cake?" his Dom asked eagerly.

"No, no cake!" Sam said, not missing the exaggerated nose-scrunch his Dom responded to that with. "I wanna invite Quinn and Mercedes."

Kurt tilted his head. "Quinn and Mercedes...?"

"And I want to take Stevie and Stacey, too. A lot of places let kids bowl free during the spring and summer, so it'd be cheap and maybe fun. I was talking to Mercedes when I came up with the idea, so I invited her already, and I talked to Quinn before glee and she said she could come and help watch my brother and sister. Please, Kurt..."

"What's the 'please' for, sweetie? I'd love to take you bowling for your birthday. Is there anyone else you want to invite?"

"No, no one else," said Sam decisively.

"Not even Mike and Tina?"

"No. It's not, like, a party. I just thought it'd be cool if you and Mercedes could have a reason to hang out and stuff."

Kurt, who had just backed out of his favored parking spot, stepped on the brakes and sat there for a moment, blinking. Sam craned to see if there was anyone else pulling out or waiting on them or if Mr. Schuester was standing there or something, but there wasn't anybody.

Kurt said, "Sweetie. You didn't put this together to try and get Mercedes to give me the time of day, did you?"

"Yeah!" said Sam. "And Quinn likes Mercedes, so in case Mercedes felt awkward being with just us, she'd have someone else there to talk to! And in case you felt awkward having to hang around with Quinn or vice versa, Mercedes would be there!"

"Honey," said Kurt. His tone was reproachful.

"I think it's cool you can get along with Rachel," said Sam loudly. "Just think! You can patch things up with Mercedes and you guys can have, like, sleepovers, and get all sprung whenever Taylor Lautner takes his shirt off!"

"Oh my God," said Kurt, chuckling ruefully and staring out the driver's side window.

"Listen, Mercedes is just bummed you haven't spent time with her. She doesn't wish you were her boyfriend or her Dom." That got Kurt to look back his way, though dubiously. "She just wants to hang out with you and not feel left out, and now you guys can hang out and bowl. And Blaine and Rachel won't be there, so she won't have to compete with them! And Finn and Mike and Tina won't be there, so it won't be all coupley and make her feel like a third wheel! Quinn and Stevie and Stacey will be there, so if it's still weird after all that, we can just bowl and call it a day!"

"Sam..."

"Please say you'll come," begged Sam. Maybe Kurt thought the whole idea was hilarious or awful. He knew there might be a couple of ways it could go bad, but he'd tried to shore up against them by strategically picking his party members, RPG-style.

"On one condition."

"Name it."

"I get to make you a cake," his Dom declared. "Cupcakes. Petit fours. One of those giant cookies. Whatever! Something to put candles in! I want you to blow the candles out and make a wish! You don't have to eat any of it, but I get to send all of what we don't eat home with you!"

"Okay, that's, like, technically more than one condition – but you have a deal," Sam agreed, relieved.

"And I am bringing my own bowling shoes."

"You have bowling shoes?"

"I do, in fact. I used to bowl a lot with my dad, but I quit in eighth grade. I also have my own ball. It's clear glitter with a _striking_ purple plastic skull in it." Kurt grinned at him. "Bowling pun. I thought it might be up your _alley_ , but if not, I'll _spare_ you."

"You'll really go bowling with me?" Sam asked, elated for reasons that had nothing to do with Mercedes or pretty good puns.

"Of course I will, cutie. If that's what you want, that's what I want."

As Kurt pulled them out of the school parking lot, those words rang in Sam's head. Giving Kurt a chance to make up with Mercedes was something he wanted, because he knew Kurt wanted it. But it wasn't the first thing that came to mind. Selfishly, he truly only wanted to be Kurt's sub. He wanted to go to Kurt's room. He wanted Kurt to tell him where to sit or stand or kneel, how to be dressed, how to be good. He wanted the constraints of school not to matter and for them not to be interrupted – and most of all, he wanted to please, and be allowed to service his Dom's cock.

Sam's gaze crept to the left, where Kurt was sitting, steering them around a corner. The seam of his muscle-hugging gray jeans displayed the arc of his thigh and knee butted casually up against the driver's side door. His boot ran all the way up his calf, and just looking at it, Sam had a strange moment of being incredibly jealous of that boot. He couldn't imagine being allowed to hold Kurt's calf or touch him for hours.

He could ask, maybe... they were in the car. Maybe Kurt would pull over in some empty parking lot and let Sam serve him. It seemed unlikely, though. Sam was constantly asking him for one thing or another... bowling, church, touching, servicing, forgiving...

"Kurt?" he found himself asking anyway, timid but helpless.

"Hmm?"

"I read two chapters of _Catcher in the Rye_."

"You did? Good job, sweetie!" Kurt said.

Sam sat up straighter in his seat. "I'm about to finish another one, in a couple pages."

"My, aren't you the voracious reader."

"Does that mean I suck?"

"No, no. 'Voracious.' It means you're hungrily devouring that book."

"Nah. I'm more – voracious about your dick," said Sam, staring at Kurt's profile.

Kurt giggled under his breath, darting Sam a smirk. "I've noticed."

"Um. Can I do that?" asked Sam.

He could hear the steep breath Kurt took, and see it lifting his rib cage underneath his vest and pewter bat. It was emitted again as a thoughtful, "Hmm."

Blood crept into Sam's face as he waited.

"Ask me again," Kurt finally said.

"Can I service you, Kurt?" Sam responded quickly, phrasing it much better. "Please."

Kurt didn't answer right away. Finally, he pulled up behind a P.T. Cruiser at a stop light and gazed over at Sam thoughtfully, then returned his eyes to the red light.

"I'm such a meanie," he commented, "always making you wait."

Sam slumped, his heart sinking. Regardless, he pledged, "I'll wait for it however long you want."

Sensing his disappointment, Kurt reached over and gave the meat of his thigh one of those affectionate squeezes. "I'm flattered. I want to let you soon, especially since you were such a good boy yesterday. But right now, I don't know where I could take you. And I want you to have a chance to recover from yesterday. I know it was a blurry day for you."

"I like blurry," Sam whispered, leaning his head on the rest. Even though he knew the touch was meant to comfort, it made him want to bow.

Kurt looked touched. "You do?"

"I wanna be your sub all the time," Sam mumbled.

"You are, honey," Kurt told him, and shifted his hand to squeeze at Sam's wrist, warm fingers covering Sam's camo-print cuff. "You're the sweetest sub, and you're all mine. Why don't you close your eyes for me? Just relax and let me take you home."

Sam obeyed. "Thank you, Kurt."

 

*

 

With its door opened, the Lima Lanes blasted them all with cool air conditioning, the smell of dirty carpet and cleaner and hot dogs, and the synthy siren song of 80s classics.

"Ooh, is that Journey I hear?" chirped Kurt as Sam held the door open for his Dom and his motley guests. He was carrying a white box, which Sam knew held some kind of homemade birthday dessert. "Only the Young" was playing somewhere under the thunder of rolling balls and crashing pins. "Promising! Journey's kind of a New Directions thing," he added, speaking towards Sam.

"It'll promise you second place at regionals," said Mercedes dryly, following Kurt inside.

"At least this one was never handed over to Finn and Rachel," said Quinn. Stacey was happily holding her hand, and had Pinky Wigglenose tagging along under her arm.

"Thank God," said Mercedes. "Why can't Mr. Schue have an Adele phase?"

Stevie carefully shepherded the Mylar balloons Mercedes had brought in lieu of a gift through the doorway. He was quiet and self-contained these days, and seemed very preoccupied with the task. Sam got it totally, which made him idly wonder if Stevie might not be a sub someday, too. He, personally, was carrying Kurt's bowling bag, which apparently looked designer or something. It was fancy brown leather and plaid. He followed Stevie in.

"Well, it looks just like how I remember it, and I don't mean that in a rose-tinted nostalgia goggles way," said Kurt.

Sam had never been to the bowling alley in Lima, but it felt older and more like a local hole in the wall than the gigantic one he'd been to with his Cub Scout troop and stuff in Tennessee. The walls were green and covered in an endless diamond pattern. Green, gold, and white diamonds crowned each polished, numbered lane. Monitors mounted above the lanes displayed an ancient scoring system that looked like it had been coded in the 80s and then awkwardly updated at some point in time with the annoying paperclip from Microsoft Word as its inspiration.

It was moderately crowded with a gathering of old men in matching league shirts in one lane and some families with kids around Stevie and Stacey's age in others. In the corner, a sparkly party store backdrop hung limply behind a karaoke machine. Some red metal dividers with circles cut out of them stood on top of the racks of bowling balls, separating the lanes and their seating from a small, run-down dining area and some stuff like candy machines and crane games. Neon lights in the shape of bowling pins decorated the walls at random.

"I haven't been bowling since I was Lucy Caboosey," said Quinn, smiling tightly.

"Be on my team!" piped Stacey, who was happily ignorant of all the drama, and also how to bowl.

"We're all on the same team," Sam told her. "Six people can all bowl on the same lane."

"Do we want bumpers?" Mercedes asked in a friendly way. She seemed to be in a good mood, even though she hadn't said much to Kurt. Sam thought there was hope.

"What do you say, Stace?" he asked, tugging at a pigtail. "You want to play with the gutters covered so you can't get a gutter ball?"

"Why are you asking Stacey? I bet she's better at bowling than I am! I definitely need bumpers!" said Quinn.

"Cool, bumpers it is," said Sam. "Let's grab a lane. Stevie, you pick the best-looking lane and we'll ask for it."

"The one on the end," said Stevie. "It's not crowded over there."

"Whose birthday is it?" asked the heavy-set man behind the counter, smiling at Stevie.

Sam lifted his hand sheepishly. Mercedes giggled.

"Oh," said the guy. "Okay. Here it's bowl one, get one free on your birthday, so. Enjoy an extra round on us."

Sam requested lane 18 and bumpers, and Kurt, whose arms were full, had Sam take his card carrier out of his bag to pay.

Asking his Dom to go bowling for his birthday had sorta snowballed. There was little Sam could do to convince Kurt it wasn't a party and didn't need to be the social event of the season. He'd talked Kurt out of decorating the lane, even with stuff that Kurt claimed was supposed to be tasteful, but Kurt was so good at planning, he just naturally took the helm from Sam. He'd called the bowling alley to inquire about birthday packages and make sure it was okay for him to bring a cake and light candles. He'd tweaked the time to one. He'd asked if Sam was allergic to gluten. On the phone, he'd start to go over details, then he'd change his mind and say it would be a surprise.

It was way more than Sam had bargained for.

Still, at least it was less than half the cost of one single prom ticket. And if Sam was honest, his vague depressed longing to be instructed or inspected or something had eased since Kurt had taken control of the gathering.

"Let's bowl a game, break for birthday cake, and bowl another game," Kurt suggested brightly, leading them to lane 18.

"We need to tie these down or they'll go up to the ceiling," Stevie said, balloons fisted.

"Look who's smarty," said Mercedes. "Too bad we can't tie them to a bowling ball. They're everywhere and totally heavy."

"Just tie them to the handles of my bag," Kurt said. "Even without the ball inside, it's more than heavy enough to keep them from floating off."

"Let's do it," Mercedes told Stevie, pulling the bag from Sam's arm.

"Okay, we need to get the right shoes before we can bowl," Sam told Stacey. "Quinn, you wanna come with?"

He took the girls to the rental window, picking Stacey up so she could tell the guy her size. It took a minute to explain to her that it wasn't a shoe store and there weren't any pink or purple shoes – just brown. Quinn smiled at him, and he smiled back, feeling less uncomfortable than he'd felt around her in a long time.

When they got back to the lane, the bumpers were in place, and Kurt was tying up a pair of shoes that looked exactly like saddle shoes, black and white. As simple as they were, they were completely him, distinctly styled and tidy. Also, the handles of Kurt's bag had gotten two balloons each tied to them, and Stevie was tying on a fifth. Mercedes was still holding a sixth. One of them, he noticed, had a gaggle of Disney princesses smiling on it.

"Hey, thanks for the balloons," Sam said, sitting himself down with Stacey next to him. "Especially the princess one."

"I picked that out just for you," Mercedes jibed.

"The Mother's Day one is nice, too. Kind of early, but I appreciate it."

"Should I have worn jeans?" Quinn asked out of nowhere, frowning. Her lacy sock looked pretty fancy paired with the rental shoe.

"Your skirt's pretty full. I don't think it'll be a problem," Mercedes said. "After all, we show choir girls are used to whirling and twirling in fancy dresses."

"You're right!" said Quinn gamely.

"Now that the balloons are safe, let's grab us some shoes," Mercedes said to Stevie, who followed her in his cooperative manner.

Sam concentrated on tying his laces, which were thick and blue. Something told him they'd be slipping open two rounds in. 

 

*

 

It turned out that Mercedes and Kurt were extremely good bowlers. Kurt had his own gear – including a glove that was just weirdly, weirdly hot on him – and Mercedes threw a powerful strike her very first frame. Neither of them even remotely got near to grazing the bumpers. Kurt seemed to warm up within a few frames, and Sam was surprised to see he had form and control and actually looked athletic and strong as he sent his ball towards the pins, even with saddle shoes and a jauntily-knotted neckerchief.

Sam could bowl pretty okay when he really tried, but he wasn't practiced, and the bumpers saved both him and Quinn repeatedly. Stevie was actually out-bowling them both. Stacey set her small lilac ball down in the lane and pushed it rather than throw it, and with the bumpers, she was actually doing okay, too, even though the ball tended to travel slowly.

They were seven frames into their game (and Sam's laces were, indeed, untied) when Mercedes turned to Kurt and said, "I've got you beat! Even if you throw solid strikes. Bow to your queen!"

"Two out of three, Mercedes!" Kurt shot back, grabbing his sparkly ball.

"You're gonna be kissing my rental kicks!"

"In your dreams!"

"I will beat you till you're begging to suck it," Mercedes said cheerily.

"Whoa!" said Sam, fiddling with his shoelaces. He was quite aware that Stevie was quietly shadowing Mercedes, and that sounded kinda naughty. "Tender ears!"

"Oops. Sorry," said Mercedes, grinning unrepentantly. She cupped her hands around her mouth and booed Kurt instead, who ignored her and squared his shoulders.

"Looks like we might just have ourselves a diva-off," Quinn murmured, brow perked.

"Oh, no," Sam muttered. That was the last thing he'd intended. But Quinn seemed to be right. Instead of talking it out or just hanging around being friendly to each other, Mercedes and Kurt had immediately locked into competition, leaving the rest of them in the dust points-wise.

By the end of the first game, Mercedes had the high score, and Kurt said, "Don't congratulate yourself yet! I'm just getting warmed up, and your over-confidence is going to be your downfall!"

"You are the one who's gonna be going down," Mercedes informed him. "Reigning champ, right here!"

"For the record, this is why I stopped bowling with you!"

"'Cause you can't take all the losing!"

"Guys, there's cake!" blurted Sam.

To his relief, Kurt dropped the trash talk and enthusiastically headed for the table.

"You eat cake now, do you?" Quinn asked, an accusatory note in her voice.

"I eat stuff if Kurt wants me to," Sam replied, watching Stacey hop enthusiastically up into one of the small seats flanking the oblong table. Kurt's bowling bag was standing on one end, those shiny balloons hovering above it and swaying in the air conditioning. Kurt unzipped it and produced a small plastic-wrapped package of black paper plates.

"How can you not eat cake on your birthday?" Mercedes demanded, seating herself.

"My thoughts exactly," said Kurt loftily. "Hey, Stevie... can you give everybody a plate?"

He looked a tad uncertain as he handed off the plates to Stevie, who got started on the task immediately. Black napkins printed with tiny white stars followed, but Kurt just set them in the middle of the table.

"Stacey, let's not stand on the chair," said Quinn, gently taking her by the arm. "You might fall."

"I want to see the cake," she protested, although she sat for Quinn obediently.

"Oh, you will!" said Kurt. "The box comes right apart. Good thing, too. We're gonna need lots of room."

Sam smiled at Stacey's owlish eyes and took a plate from Stevie.

"Here, Kurt," Stevie spoke up, giving a single plate to Kurt, then the rest of the package.

"Thank you, Stevie. Perfect job," said Kurt, making Sam smile even more.

Kurt certainly held the small group in the palm of his hand when he popped the box open. There wasn't a cake inside, but there were a dozen colorful globes on the ends of white sticks that had been stuck in a block of some type, holding them all up straight. They were decorated, and Sam immediately recognized they were planets, and so did everyone else; Stevie let out a breathy, "Oh!"

Although they were all the same size, there was a peachy-orange and red marbled one that had to be Jupiter; it even had the Great Red Spot. Saturn was a light purple, with its rings piped on and doused in sparkly crystal-like sprinkles. Neptune was a brilliant blue streaked with white. Uranus was green with a yellow ring, and Venus was canary yellow, made stormy-looking with green sprinkles. Mars had been absolutely coated in red. There were some other planets, too, that Sam guessed Kurt had just taken artistic liberty with. One looked like a rainbow.

Mercedes was the first to speak. "Kurt, these are awesome!"

"Thank you, thank you!" said Kurt happily. He'd reached into his bag again and had pulled out a slender but tall box.

"Do they go on the cake?" Stacey asked.

"Ah, they are the cake. They're little mini cakes on a stick. They're called cake pops!" Kurt explained. "You can pick out whatever planet you want! But first..."

He delicately pierced a tall, skinny green candle that looked like a piece of twisted wire into Mars, pulled a barbecue-style lighter out of his bag, and hummed in a single sustained, clear note, "Mmm, are you ready to s-i-i-ing, and Sa-a-a-am, are you ready to make a wi-i-i-ish?"

Sam threw his hands up in surrender. Those planet cakes were the coolest cake he'd ever seen in his life, and as Kurt lit the single candle, it went off like a sparkler. It was really cool. He grinned sheepishly as Kurt and Mercedes lead the round of "Happy Birthday." Their voices were so good that he knew the whole place could hear them singing, "Happy birthday, dear Sa-am..."

When it came time to make a wish, Sam thought, _I want to be worthy of this. I wish I was worthy._

 

*

 

In the parking lot, Sam walked Mercedes up to her car.

"Thanks for inviting me, Sam. I had a great time. A great time kicking Kurt's ass!" she laughed.

Bewildered, Sam laughed too. "Glad you could make it. Congrats on beating all our pants off, all three games."

She took a few seconds to get the cackling out of her system, then dug into the back pocket of her unnaturally bright cerulean blue jeans. She pulled out a small envelope and handed it to Sam. "Here. For you."

"Hey, you already gave me awesome balloons!" objected Sam.

"Yeah. I knew you'd like the Dora the Explorer." She smiled. "I just thought it'd be funny."

"You thought so, but you saw Stevie and Stacey. They loved 'em. I told you no presents, though..."

"Yeah, you did! But you also said no cake, and there was cake."

"Well... Kurt," said Sam. He offered the envelope back to Mercedes.

"Yep. It's Kurt's way or the highway," Mercedes said. "And don't even try to hand that back to me. It's just an iTunes gift card. Don't spend it all in one place!"

Sam eyed her. "... You mean, like, on iTunes?"

Mercedes shook her head and laughed, walking off towards her car. "Happy birthday, Sam."

"Thanks, Mercedes!"

 

*

 

"I wasn't good at bowling when I was a kid, and I'm not any better now," said Quinn, opening her car door back in the motel parking lot. She'd given Stevie and Stacey a ride, as the precious cake pops had taken up one of Kurt's back seats. "Good to know some things never change."

"Thanks for coming. It was a big help. Sure you don't want a planet? One for the road?"

"I'm sure. They were hard to eat without making a mess."

Sam shrugged sheepishly. He'd gotten icing on his cheek and chin nomming on Jupiter, and Kurt had dabbed him clean with a moist towelette. Stacey had needed the same treatment. But while they'd all eaten their chosen cake planets, Kurt had brought up Mercedes' appearance on _Fondue For Two_ , and they had gossiped about some kind of scandalous news in a way Sam couldn't follow, and didn't really care to anyway. Even though Mercedes had carried through with soundly defeating Kurt every round, they had talked and even taken a picture together.

"Well. See you in church," said Quinn.

"See you, Quinn."

 

*

"So what did you wish for?" Kurt asked him playfully. He was sitting on the picnic table bench next to Sam. They were sharing Uranus – or, rather, Kurt was letting Sam take little bites off of it. Despite the extra calories and impending sugar crash, Sam was soaking up each second of being alone with Kurt. He had about an hour before he had to scoot off for the busy Saturday evening shift at Nice Slice. He really didn't feel like going to work. He wanted to just sit there all evening with Kurt, or maybe go somewhere with him. But he had to be content to wait till Tuesday.

"No way, I'm not telling," said Sam with a grin.

"But I'm your Dom," Kurt said, feigning hurt. "You can tell me anything."

"I want my wish to come true!"

Kurt batted his eyelashes. "I bet if you tell me, I could make your wish come true."

"You already do too much for me," said Sam, and obediently nibbled the cake pop when Kurt offered it.

"Not possible." Kurt thumbed Sam's chin, nicking a crumb or something away and attentively watching him chew. "What if I guess your wish? Would you tell me if I guessed right?"

"Nope," said Sam. "My birthday magic needs to work!"

After a thoughtful pause, Kurt said, "What if I ordered you to tell me?"

"Then I would tell you," Sam conceded. "But my wish might not come true."

"Okay, I won't break the birthday spell," said his Dom, plucking a piece of moist cake off Uranus before it could fall off, heavy with green icing, and popping it into his mouth. "I'm sure whatever you wished for is something you'll get. Unless it's a rocket ship. And I don't know why you'd wish for one of those. You've already seen the solar system in all its cakey glory."

Icing, not holding up too well in the late afternoon sun, was sticking to his fingertips; Sam watched him stick his thumb between his lips to clean it off. Then Kurt caught his eye and apparently reconsidered doing it himself, offering his index finger to Sam, a small smile spreading.

Sam let out a soft, happy hum. He opened his mouth for Kurt's finger and sucked the overly-sweet icing off it. It took several licks to get it clean, and he lapped at the soft pad slowly, wanting to savor the fleeting service Kurt was allowing him.

"Well, I can't wait to give you your present."

Sam paused with his lips clinging around Kurt's finger, his eyes widening. His Dom just chuckled at him affectionately, then kissed his cheek.

"Cutie-pie. I haven't even begun to celebrate your birthday yet!"


End file.
